Little Problems
by LondonBelow
Summary: postRENT Life in close quarters is no easy thing. Tempers flare, loves are forbidden, and secrets change the world.
1. A Drop of Honesty

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. I'm just playing. RENT is Jonathan Larson's.

"Oh, for G-d's sake, Roger!"

Joanne elbowed him out of the way and shoved a tip into the hands of the delivery boy. She sent him on his way, then turned to Roger, who stood by the door with his hands on the pizza box. Joanne smacked him on the forehead. "All those stairs, you give him two dollars?"

"Fuck you, let's eat pizza," Roger replied. He carried the box to the table, where their friends had already assembled. "Oookay." Roger earned himself another light-hearted scolding from Joanne as he pulled a piece for himself, wrapping melted cheese around his fingers. "Ow! Stop _doing_ that!"

"Yeah, give us all the chance to hit Roger," Collins said.

"Shut up!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Roger stuck out his tongue.

"Give me some fucking pizza!"

That was Maureen's contribution from the end of the table. Collins passed her a slice. "Thank you!"

"Easy, Mo," Mark cautioned as she inhaled half the slice in one bite.

Joanne laughed. "Easy yourself, Mark, that's a hungry Maureen you're taking on."

Maureen gave Mark a sympathetic smile. "I think he can manage himself, Jo. Marky's a big boy."

"At least that's what it says on the bathroom wall," Mimi quipped.

Collins shook his head. "Roger," he scolded.

"Oh, fuck you!" Roger sputtered between giggles.

Mark closed his eyes. His temperature was steadily rising. He felt droplets of sweat pop up on his back and along his arms. His eyelids were leaden, almost as though he was tired. Nothing but tired as his throat dried and he could not force down another bite of pizza.

Mark took a deep breath and conjured an image. A forest. He had always daydreamed about places, about being alone somewhere silent. He thought of touching a leaf, watching it fall and gasping as it did… and realizing, suddenly, that it was all right.

"Mark? Mark?" It was Joanne's harsh whisper and her hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"

Mark shook his head. "Huh?" Everyone was looking at him. "Yeah," he said. _Stop it. Stop looking at me like that. Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!_ "Yeah, just… thinking," he finished lamely. "Wow, is everyone full already?" _How long was I dreaming?_

Maureen laughed. "Yeah, we only ate an entire pizza," she said.

"Oh. Um, then I have something I need to tell you," Mark announced. He cleared his throat. Of course his friends respected his privacy and dropped their voices to listen to what he needed to say. "I, uh… I started seeing a therapist," Mark began, "about… two months?" he asked, looking to Joanne. She nodded. "Two months ago. And she thinks it would be best, um, if I was honest with all of you," Mark said.

He had barely finished the introduction to his speech, but it felt enough like an accomplishment. He looked again to Joanne, who smiled encouragingly. "Um, anyway…" Mark took a deep breath.

_No. Don't do this. You're a freak. You're a freak and they always wanted you to be the healthy one. They never knew. Don't change that._

_But it's the truth. It's better to be who you are… and everyone has flaws._

Mark looked to the one-time anorexic with a string of pizza cheese on her chin, the ex-junkie with a frown and a furrowed brow, unable to determine what was wrong. "I just wanted you guys to know that. That, that I'm seeing someone." He chuckled, too nervous to do anything more.

---

Roger tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder as he replaced the plates in the cabinet. The sound of a fork clattering against other cutlery filled his ears, harsh and sudden enough to make him jump. Roger glanced over his shoulder. Mark stood at the sink, his arms completely buried in soap water, flecks of soap probably fogging his glasses.

"Um… so tonight went well," Roger volunteered.

"Yeah," Mark agreed. "Really well." Roger stepped up to the sink to dry the remaining dishes. "The… the only thing, Rog, is that… um, you didn't say anything and, if there's anything about… what I said…"

Roger asked, "Is there something you want me to say?" The twitch of Mark's shoulders made his gut twist. "I'm sorry. That was harsher than I meant."

Mark forced a smile. "No hard feelings." He pulled the plug to let the soapy water drain and began scrubbing his hands.

"They put me in therapy for a while when I was in rehab. I never liked it, but if that's what you need, Mark." Roger tossed a handful of forks and knives into the drawer. "That's it. I'm goin' to bed. Night, Mark."

Again with that forced smile, Mark agreed, "Yeah. Good night."

And he could not for the life of him understand why he felt so much pain.

To be continued!

okay, I know I haven't updated 'Once More...' in about forever. Give me time to get it sorted, ok? I will be running both of these stories at once.

Reviews would be _golden_!


	2. Don't Tell

Disclaimer: RENT is not mine. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Hey, Roger, catch!")

"No-- Louisa. Did you practice _at all_ this week?" Roger asked, clearly trying to be patient.

"I _told_ you I had trouble with A Major! I told you that!" replied a strained voice on the brink of tears.

"Hey-- okay. Calm down. We'll just run it again, okay? Start with C Major. Close, but-- yes."

Mimi sat on the fire escape, listening as Roger gave a guitar lesson. She looked out at Alphabet City, at the grungy avenue not completely awake yet at nine o'clock in the morning, and she smiled. It was a decrepit, ugly place… but to her, it was beautiful. Sun glinted off broken-down cars and the puddles from last night's rain. Distant car horns drifted a symphony into Alphabet City.

Mimi smiled.

"It's a stupid finger, anyway. I mean speaking from an evolutionary standpoint, it's just a matter of time before the pinkie disappears."

Mimi snorted with laughter.

"Okay… um, then we won't use that finger."

"You."

"What?"

"You said we. You should've said you."

"Louisa…" A chord interrupted him. "Okay, good. See, you played A Major, I knew you could do it. You're gonna practice that for me, right?"

"Yes, Mister Davis."

Mimi snickered. "Again. _Roger_," Roger said, emphasizing his name.

"Sorry. _Roger_."

"Better."

"May I use your bathroom?"

"Um… hang on." Roger set down his guitar and crossed the room. He had broken the lock on the bathroom door years ago. As a general rule one knocked before entering. Roger just poked his head in.

Mark immediately plunged his arms under the water, shielding himself. "Roger!"

"Oh, Mark, you don't have anything down thereI haven't seen before," Roger said, laughing.

"Get out!" Mark shouted. He threw a bar of soap at Roger, who backed out of the room. "Sorry," he told his student. "My roommate's having a bath."

"Oh! I… I didn't realize you were gay."

A blush patterned Roger's cheeks. "I said roommate, Louisa, I did not say 'live-in lover'."

"I thought--"

"Then you'll have a lot of fun in college." Mimi laughed aloud, as she heard the student struggling not to. "Go on. Have a good week and _practice A Major!_" After the door had shut, Roger shook his head, laughing. _Poor Mark._ He went over to the window and peered out. "You coming in for breakfast, love?" he asked.

Mimi held up her hands and allowed Roger to haul her to her feet.

---

Mark could not shake the feeling that Mimi was finding excuses to hang around the loft. She offered to wash the dishes, a chore she despised, reminding Roger, "You need to buy a new set of strings, remember?"

Roger bit his lip. "Yeah, but…"

"When's your next student coming?" Mimi asked.

"Three-thirty," Roger admitted. "After school." Other than Louisa, who was seventeen but had gone to community college after two years of high school, and the few adults, most of Roger's students were enrolled full-time in either middle or high school, and could not come by for lessons until after class.

Mimi nodded. "You should buy your strings now," she said. "And you can stop off at the market, too, since we're almost out of food." She paused to marvel that "almost out of food" had become a rare condition. Finances had loosened miraculously in the past eleven months.

_Eleven months._ It would be Christmas before she knew it and, Mimi realized, she had yet to find a gift for Roger. In fact she had yet to find a gift for most everyone, except Maureen (Mimi had come across a stuffed cow in a flea market one day and been unable to resist). The fact alone that she could buy gifts for her friends made Mimi smile.

She thought again of finances. It was not that Mimi particularly cared about money-- no, and neither did Roger or Mark, but it was nice to have heat and meals. Mimi had long since kicked smack-- not long since, less than a year, but it was gone now and her tips stretched a long way without the drug. Not to mention Roger's music lessons, which also provided entertainment for Mark and Mimi.

Apparently Roger had been having similar thoughts, because he smiled and said, "It's not so bad, is it? Money."

"No," Mimi agreed. "It's only the root of all evil."

Roger laughed. "'Love you, Mimi." He kissed her.

"I love you, too." Mimi refused to engage in "I love you more" contests, but she somehow suspected that if she did, Roger would play.

Mark emerged from the bathroom shortly after Roger left. "Mark, are you hungry?" Mimi asked. He had barely glanced at her before heading for his room. "Roger made you a sandwich."

Mark paused. "Roger what?"

"Made you a sandwich. So you would have something to eat. Well, half a sandwich, actually, we're out of bread. Come on, you barely ate last night."

"You guys ate all the pizza," Mark protested. "I had nothing _to_ eat!" He took the sandwich from Mimi. Roger had Sharpie'd "MARK" onto an old guitar pick and stuck it in the bread, standing upright like a strange banner. "Do you think that's sanitary?" Mark asked. "Eating this sandwich might endanger my health."

"Not eating that sandwich might endanger your health."

"…what?"

Mimi rolled her eyes. "Roger," she said by way of explanation.

"Point taken." Mark bit into the sandwich.

He sat at the table. Mimi used the bathroom-- "You only took, what, a two-hour bath?"-- then joined him. "Jeez," she said, "what happened to your hand?"

Mark looked to see what Mimi meant, swallowed and said, "Nicked myself last night, when I was doing the dishes." He scratched around the cut on the back of his wrist. "It itches."

Mimi gave a sympathetic smile. "Good sandwich?" she asked.

"Um… it's just peanut butter and jelly," Mark mumbled.

"Right. Yeah, I knew that. Mark, hey, do you know if Joanne is working today?"

Mark nodded. "She's in court all day, why?"

Ignoring his question, Mimi asked, "What about Collins?"

"Um… he has three classes today, I think," Mark said. "10:30, 12:30 and three. That might be Tuesday-Thursday, though, you'd have to ask Roger."

"Nice weather, huh?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah. It's… pretty warm, for November."

"I hope it snows for Christmas."

"Me, too."

---

The door opened, and Tom Collins could not have been more surprised to see one Mimi Marquez walk into his classroom. She paused. "Oh. I-I didn't want to interrupt," she said shyly.

Collins beckoned her in. "You can stay if you want," he said. "We've got about twenty minutes to go."

"Professor, is that your girlfriend?" a student called.

"That's cradlerobbing!"

"He's gay, jackass," someone hissed.

"And anyway," said a quiet, high-pitched voice, "his partner died last October."

Collins froze. _Who said that?_ He scanned the room. His students were now so busy gossiping-- and about him, no less!-- not a single one noticed. One student was silent, a girl in the back of the class who was doodling in her notebook.

"Enough!" Collins barked. The chatter died. "She is not my girlfriend," he said, trying to make clear by his tone that he found the concept amusing. "And who the hell said I was a cradlerobber?" A boy whose posture shrieked arrogance admitted that it was he. "Andrew. I am not robbing the cradle because I'm not dating her. I am, as Johnston said, gay, jackass." The class giggled. "Mimi, you're welcome to stay. You could probably teach these guys a thing or two."

"What about?" Mimi asked. She winked.

Collins snickered. "Not that," he replied. "Come on." She sat, and he continued his lecture. "…the Asche experiment shows us that even with something our senses display clearly as fact, we are willing to deny, believing others' senses in favor of our own. If we will so lightly renounce that which we know as fact, what of our morals? What of questions we ask ourselves-- you should be asking yourselves-- every day? Is this right? Is this right because your friends say its right, because _I_ say it's right?"

When he dismissed his students Mimi began to rise, but stopped when Collins called one girl to stay. "Izzy…"

"I'm sorry, professor. I didn't mean it disrespectfully. I just…"

"How did you know?" Collins asked.

"I… just… knew," Izzy answered. "The way you were acting last month, it-- I thought-- I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to say it, it just… just happened."

"What goes on in my life, is my business."

Izzy nodded. "Yeah, professor," she said.

"You're dismissed."

"But--" she began. Collins looked up sharply, and Izzy bit her lip. "You're not being fair," she forced herself to continue. "I know what I did was wrong, but you can't chew me out for gossiping, not when everyone else did it too. What I said was too personal and I _know_ that and I'm sorry, but you didn't tell me off for that, you told me off for exactly what everyone else was doing and you didn't tell them off. You practically praised Johnston."

Collins paused. The kid had a point, he had to admit. But… "Izzy, just go," he said. She did. Collins leaned against his desk and shook his head, one hand over his eyes. The last thing he needed… _Jesus._

A month ago, he had canceled every one of his classes for a week. When he returned to his apartment after five days of too much booze and who knew what else, he found a message from Mark and five from Roger, asking where he was and what was going on and was he all right? Roger had been sitting outside the apartment, terrified.

A warm hand on his shoulder brought Collins back to the present. Mimi was watching him, brown eyes even wider than usual. She did not ask the obvious question, because she already knew the answer and the lie he would tell her.

"So. You had a reason for coming here," Collins said.

"You know, forget it. It was… a silly thing," Mimi said, shrugging it off.

"Mimi." She paused. "You miss her, too, Mimi," Collins said. Mimi nodded. Yes, she did. "You should understand, you above anyone, that life continues. Inertia. You came here for a reason. Don't let my sorrow overshadow that, or you do us both a disservice."

"I…" Mimi took a deep breath. "I need your advice. And I may need to borrow some money. A lot. But I'll pay you back."

Collins frowned. This did not sound good. "Is this about Roger?" he asked.

"I don't want him to know about this," Mimi replied quickly. "If that's not okay with you, I can go--"

"I can keep a secret from Roger." _I've done it enough times before._

Mimi nodded. "I'm carrying his child," she said.

Collins struggled not to let his jaw drop. "And you're thinking about getting rid of it," he asked without asking. Mimi nodded again. "And Roger doesn't know."

"And you promised not to tell him," Mimi reminded him.

Collins nodded. He had said that… "How long?"

"Probably two months. Maybe three. I don't know."

"And you want my advice?"

Mimi nodded.

_Oh, boy._ "Well…" _Jesus._ He probably had not gone an entire semester without having this discussion with his students. It's legal, does that make it right? But shouldn't a woman have control over her own body? Without religion? No, we cannot discuss this without religion, not in a Protestant country. Yes, it is. "Mimi, your body is your own," Collins said. How many times had she heard that before as an argument against drugs? _Only you can treat your body right._ "Whatever anyone says, if you're sure you want to have an abortion then you have that right."

Mimi nodded. She had needed to hear that.

"I guess this goes beyond the question of whether you're ready to be a mother."

Eagerly, she agreed, "I could bring an HIV-positive child into the world. That's not right, is it? And besides, Roger and I… well, even if the child is healthy, we won't be around too long. And that's not fair. But…"

"But you want it. Beyond the question of morals, you want this baby, don't you, Mimi?"

She nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"Since this morning."

Collins sighed. "What are we gonna do?" he asked.

Mimi didn't know. She sat on a student's desk and shook her head, lost, but already she felt better. Already, because Collins said "we".

To be continued!

This story is not in the same continuum as Last Year. Mark didn't black out last chapter, he was just daydreaming.

Reviews would be awesome!


	3. Mark's Cherry and Current Love Life

Disclaimer: I do not own RENT. Though I am going to see it today.

Here's one for all you Mark/Roger fans... did you truly think I could write a story without it?

* * *

Mark sat on the couch, numb, struggling to think. He turned the test over in his hands, vaguely aware of the fact that he was touching urine. Given the circumstances, Mark was not worried. Not about touching pee, at least.

_Pregnant._ And there was only one person it could be. _Mimi is pregnant._

No, no, it didn't have to be Mimi. Mark shook his head. What was he thinking? Just last night they had the whole gang over. It could be… Mark groaned. Maureen or Joanne? But then, why would they use the loft to take a pregnancy test? Unless… unless one was pregnant and the other didn't know it.

But how was Mark supposed to find out? One does not exactly ask a woman, "Are you pregnant?" At least, not unless one wants to be smacked across the face.

Maureen. It had to be Maureen. She was the slut! Of course she had gotten herself stuffed…

_Unless,_ Mark realized, _Joanne had had enough_. It might also have been Joanne's baby. Perhaps Joanne cheated, and she would have more trouble admitting it.

But Joanne could us protection. Any of them would. Enough of their friends were HIV-positive to ensure that they _knew_ the dangers of unprotected sex.

"Mark?" Mark looked up. Roger stood in the doorway, holding bags of groceries and looking worried. "What… what's that?"

_Two days later, Mark told tell his therapist: "I didn't want to tell Roger. It might not have been his and it was obviously a secret."_

_"So what did you tell him?" his therapist asked._

_Mark groaned. It was not one of his cleverer responses. "I told him it was his Christmas present and hid it behind my back."_

And the first thought in Mark's head was: _Shit! What can I buy for Roger for Christmas, that looks like a pregnancy test?_

Roger set down the groceries and closed the door. He shook his head and laughed in a very unamused manner. "You never could lie to me, Mark," he said.

Mark blushed. He had no poker face, and he knew it. "I-it's nothing, Rog." _Why bother?_ Mark asked himself. _Get him mad at Mimi, why the hell not? _

Roger walked with surprising calm across the loft. He paused in front of Mark, hand outstretched. "Give it to me." Roger had no clue as to what Mark was hiding. All he knew was that Mark was hiding it, and Mark was hiding it from him, which meant it concerned him. And it was not a Christmas present.

_"You wanted Roger angry with his girlfriend?" the therapist asked._

_Mark nodded. "I'm not proud of it," he said, and chuckled nervously. "But yes."_

_"Have you ever considered moving out?"_

_"Oh, G-d, no. I love it in the loft. I'm settled, the rent… we manage the rent, and besides, I could never leave Roger."_

_"How long have you been in love with him?"_

_Mark blushed. Two years ago, Roger met Mimi. One year before that, he and April enjoyed their first Christmas as a couple. Seven months before that, Mark graduated from Brown, turned his back on his degree, and moved into the city with Benny. "Three years, seven months."_

It was a game to Roger as Mark shifted away from him on the couch, hiding the test the same way Roger once hid Mimi's stash. What-- _Oh, no._ No, Roger could not believe that. Not drugs, not his Mark. Roger struggled to keep the desperation out of his actions as he knelt beside Mark. "Give it," he repeated, forcing a smile and a playful tone.

Mark shook his head. Roger leaned in and poked his fingertips gently into the soft flesh of Mark's belly. "Last warning."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Roger-- aah!" Mark collapsed into giggles as Roger tickled him. "Stop-- Roger-- stop it-- I can't breathe!"

"Give it to me, then."

Mark's cheeks flushed a bright pink. He was having difficulty breathing, laughing so hard as he attempted to squirm away, fell over and rolled onto his back. Roger knelt over him, saying, "Give it up, Mark. Come on, give it… give it to me…" Mark had no intention of doing any such thing. That would make Roger stop touching him, and as Roger pushed up Mark's sweater Mark felt a surge of heat. Roger fingers ghosted across his abdomen, and Mark squirmed and bucked and couldn't help but think of the other ways in which Roger could elicit the same responses.

Black and purple spots began to dance before Mark's eyes.

"Rog-- Roger-- please-- mercy, Roger, I'm gonna…"

Roger paused. "Gonna what?" he asked.

"Pass out," Mark gasped.

And Roger's demeanor changed entirely. His playful attitude fell away as he pulled Mark up and rubbed his back. "Okay?" Roger asked. He pushed the heel of his hand into Mark's back, easing the tension he had not known existed.

Mark fixed his glasses before nodding. "I'm better," he said breathlessly.

"Good. You know I would never hurt you, Mark," Roger said.

Mark raised his eyes and he saw in Roger's face that this was more than an affirmation. Roger _needed_ to hear that Mark knew that, and Mark did. "I know," he said. "It's okay, Roger. We were just playing."

Roger nodded. "Yeah," he said. His hand moved towards Mark's lap and Mark felt his pulse race, excited by the thought of Roger's hand _there_, but Roger only plucked the test from Mark's hand. "I win," he quipped, returning to the topic of play.

_"Do you think your affections for Roger may be at the root of your problems?"_

_"Roger… no. Well, maybe, but not only." Mark cleared his throat. "It… it isn't that I don't like Mimi as a person. Actually I've… been to the club, the Cat Scratch, and… she's a very attractive woman."_

_"Are you attracted to her?"_

_Mark cleared his throat again. "Um… I… I am, but… Look, I'm not a slut. Okay? I don't sleep around. I've been with, um, I've been with three. That's it, three. I was with Maureen, in high school I was with Nanette, um, for a little while, not long and she didn't… she didn't… she didn't, um, pop my cherry or anything. Do boys say that, popping the cherry?"_

_"I think it can be applied to either. You could semantically argue that it refers to an orgasm."_

_"Uh… then I popped my own cherry," Mark said. He laughed, nervous. "Anyway, the thing about… about Roger? It's not just Roger. The 'root of my problems'. It's a lot of things. Stress. I'm not bringing in a lot of money right now and I don't like leaning on Roger and Mimi so much. Especially Mimi, she's really… she's practically still a kid. And I love them, you know, platonically and… and otherwise. Um, and Collins… he's… Of all of us, Collins has the lowest T-cell count. You'd think Mimi, but she bounced right back. It's… it's hard for them."_

_"Of course. But for you…"_

_"It's worse. Is that awful, saying it's worse for me? I mean, they're _dying_, and, and I… You know what? One time, during Roger's depression, my mom called me and she told me that my dog had died. Silly, right? I mean my roommate, my best friend, my… Roger, is dying, and I can't sleep because I'm crying about my puppy. And Roger was just _there_. He came in and he… he sat down on the bed and held me in his lap, as much of me as he could, and he sang."_

_"He sang to you?"_

_"Mmm. And all I remember of the song is, 'And those of us who must remain, go on living just the same.' Like Roger was telling me something."_

Roger stared at the test. He stared for a long time, unmoving, just watching the little line as though he could make it disappear.

Mark sat beside him, feeling guilty despite having done nothing wrong, save finding the pregnancy test in the trash can.

After a long moment, Roger turned to him, cleared his throat gently and asked, "So, uh… you… got me this for Christmas?" Mark shook his head. "You… 're pregnant?" Roger asked.

"I don't know if it's hers," Mark whispered. "It… it could be… Maureen or Joanne…"

Roger bolted off the couch. He wheeled on Mark. "Were Maureen and Joanne here while I was out?" he demanded. "I took out the trash last night so either they were here or… or…"

"It's Mimi's," Mark finished for him.

To be continued!

Thanks to all of you guys who reviewed, I love hearing from you!


	4. A Visit to Collins

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, I just like to play with the characters. ("Right foot red!")

Collins was halfway through his lecture on Kitty Genovese and the Asche experiments when the door was shoved open and Roger Davis strode into his classroom, a small storm and a very frightened Mark close on his heels. The students stared. Those who were sleeping woke up, and those who were already attentive looked positively entertained.

"She came to talk to you, didn't she?" Roger demanded.

"Roger," Collins said, trying to convey something of mild annoying and placation in those two syllables. "This is her decision." He realized his mistake almost immediately, as Roger registered mild shock. Previously, he had been looking for his pregnant girlfriend, concerned. Now Roger knew that Mimi was thinking of getting an abortion.

The worst part was the violation. Collins had no right to tell Roger that, and he knew it.

"If it's my baby I deserve a say!"

Eyes popped, jaws dropped, and the entire Morals and Human Reasoning class began composing the stories they would tell their family and friends.

Collins sighed. "Roger, calm down--"

"It's not completely her decision! It's as much mine as--"

"All right, that's it." Collins grabbed a handful of Roger's shirt and pulled it, and Roger, into the hallway. Mark followed, worried. Once the door had slammed shut, Collins told Roger, "Take a deep breath, man."

"Let me go--"

"No. You're hysterical. Take a deep breath." Roger did. "Good." Collins released him.

Roger spun around and shoved Collins as hard as he could. Collins was surprised to be thrown off his balance: he hadn't been in a brawl with Roger since withdrawal, and then Roger had been weak as a kitten.

"Roger," Mark appealed.

Collins took a more active course. Roger moved to shove him again. Collins caught Roger's left arm and twisted it behind his back. He held the collar of Roger's shirt in his hands. "Let go of me, dammit!" Roger squirmed.

"I'll let you go when you calm down."

"You told her, didn't you?" Roger snarled. "You told her that I didn't have any say in this, that's it's entirely her choice, didn't you?"

Collins dropped Roger. Roger hit the ground hard. He swore and began to rise, only to find Collins' knee pressed against his back. "Roger. I'm your friend, and I will help you, but you have to calm down. I'm not puttin' up with your melodramatic bullshit, not today, okay?"

Roger nodded. The floor smelled like something familiar… cleaning supplies. Something intended to smell like lemon that was actually more like a tootsie pop in the middle of an operation room.

_How many licks _does_ it take to get to the center of a Tootsie pop?_ Roger grinned at the rogue thought. He was told he asked this question once in every three times he smoked pot, on average.

"Now if I let you up, you'll behave?" Collins asked.

"Yes."

Collins released Roger, who sat up with his back against the wall, rubbing his jaw. "That hurt," he said, glaring.

"Um, excuse me, professor?" In the doorway stood a boy with messy hair and wire-rimmed glasses and a handful too many freckles, who reminded Collins very much of a young Mark. "We were wondering if… is class over, professor? There's… there's another hour left."

Collins looked to Roger. "Well, Davis?" he asked. "Want to give it a shot?"

To be continued!

Yeah, I know it's short, but the next scene didn't make sense here... I'll try to post it later today.

Reviews would be awesome! Please?


	5. Talk About It

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Mimi's it!")

Mimi flipped through a magazine, looking at glossy pictures of models. Most of them were older than her, and Mimi could not help but wonder what sadist thought fashion magazines belonged in the waiting room of an anonymous clinic.

_Not an abortion clinic,_ she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. _I'm not here for that. Yet, anyway. _After all, the test was positive and it had been a while since her last period, but that meant nothing. Those tests were not 100, especially for someone who bought the cheapest one. And Mimi's periods had become more regular as she gained weight and stopped shooting up, but she had never been every 28 days.

Mimi set aside the magazine with a sigh. She looked around the room instead. This was real life, this, no gloss and airbrush but the pimply teenager, trembling and on the verge of tears; the large Hispanic woman with two small children crawling around her. There was even a couple, holding hands with a very poor-but-in-love appearance.

Mimi bit back another sigh. She leaned forward, arms across her belly, at a sudden pain as she thought of Roger. He should have been there. He should have been supporting her. He should have been sitting beside her, holding her hand.

_Assuming he agrees,_ she reminded herself. There was always Roger's temper, his envy. This was his baby, Mimi knew that, but would Roger believe it? And could she stay with him then, if he didn't trust her? Could she raise a child with him, if she decided to keep it, knowing he would always doubt the child?

What was that lyric, in the song Roger liked to play? "Your prison is walking through this world all alone." That was it. Mimi hummed the tune softly, singing the words in her head.

"Mimi."

She shook her head. No, she had not just heard Roger say her name. Roger wasn't here, and just because Mimi wanted to not be alone didn't mean that he would ride to her rescue.

But she heard it again, insistent: "Mimi Marquez."

Mimi looked up. She winced. She saw herself telling the story to a little girl, a five-year-old with his eyes and her skin. _And then your daddy found me at the clinic, and we had a big fight, and that's why Benny sometimes comes to visit._ She shivered. She couldn't bring a child into that world.

_Why am I a prostitute in my daydreams?_

The bathroom, Mimi knew, was close behind her and a little to her left. It was so obvious, he wouldn't think to look there.

"Mimi!"

She winced. Unless, of course, the motion drew his eye.

"Mimi!" Roger jogged across the room. He could as easily have walked, _but then,_ Mimi thought, _Roger loves the drama._ He took her hand gently. "Don't do this," he said. "Please, at least… at least let's talk about it first. Please, Mimi. It's my baby, too."

Mimi couldn't help herself: she laughed. She shook her head and laughed until tears streaked down her face. She laughed until her knees went weak, and a very perplexed Roger helped her sit down on the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry," Mimi managed between giggles. Roger was kneeling on the ground, holding her hands, and looking at her imploringly. "I'm sorry to laugh at you, Roger, it's just… oh, Roger, this isn't an abortion clinic!"

"I-It isn't?" he asked.

"No!" Mimi shook her head. "It's prenatal care, baby. I'm getting a check-up and an ultrasound."

"So… you're keeping it?" Roger asked, shaking his head slightly at everything he did not understand.

Mimi drew in a deep breath. She had so much to explain… "Come here, baby." She gently brought his head to rest in her lap and stroked his hair. Without question, Roger stretched out on the floor. "Right now, Roger, all we have is the _possibility_ of a child." He tilted his head, mouth open to object, and she shushed him. "Baby, my periods have never been regular and those tests aren't totally reliable."

"Mimi?"

"Yeah, baby?" She loved that habit of his, of stating her name for attention even in the middle of a conversation.

"If you are… if there is…" Roger touched her belly. "If there's a baby, what… um… do you want to keep… the baby?"

Mimi smiled. "Yeah," she admitted, "I kinda do."

"Mimi?"

"I'm listening, Roger."

"If you keep the baby, I want to raise…" he paused, struggling, then finished: "…the baby with you."

"Mimi Marquez?" called a nurse with a clipboard.

"Come on." Roger helped Mimi up. "Let's go make sure you're healthy."

"Are you talking to me, or our hypothetical fetus?"

"Umm…"

To be continued!

Reviews would be golden!

Oh, and just so we're clear on this: I do sleep and I do not use drugs.


	6. Avoidance

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters. ("One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand...")

Mark stayed in Collins' class after Roger left. He waited until the class was dismissed-- "Don't forget, your papers are due a week from Friday, you have reading due on Wednesday and any grumbling will lower your grade!" Once his students were gone, Collins turned to Mark and said, "Some of them believe that."

Mark chuckled.

"So how are you?" Collins asked.

"I was going to ask you the same."

Collins began sorting through the papers on his desk. The thought flitted through his head that perhaps some sort of organizational system might be advantageous, but it was banished as a couple of joints rolled free of a stack of papers. Collins grinned and pocketed them.

"Yeah, well," Collins told Mark, "you kind of ceded your upper ground there."

"How do you mean?" Mark asked.

"When you made your announcement last night, Mark."

"Oh, I didn't mean… nothing has to change because of that," Mark stammered. "I-- I just thought…" He stopped. What _had_ he thought? He knew he had had reasons for telling them, but could not for the life of him recall those reasons now.

Collins told him, "Mark, what you said, it took guts to say it. But boy…" He shook his head. "What did you expect? That changes things."

Mark cast an apologetic look at his hands, feeling his shoulders curl gently inwards. "I'm not… there's nothing wrong with me," he murmured. "It's nothing like that…"

"Hey. I didn't say that."

The tone made Mark shiver. It was a soft tone generally reserved for people like Roger and Mimi, who…

Mark would never say that his friends were in any way lacking. They were just a little immature. They were addicts, after all, and the temptation was there whether they ignored it or not, and they needed, well, a gentler world. They needed support, they were simply those sorts of people.

But Mark wasn't like that. "No, I know you didn't," he told Collins. "I just… I mean… I wasn't asking for anything," he said, embarrassed that anyone should have thought so.

"Sure you were," Collins replied easily. "If nothing else, Mark, you were asking us to accept you. As though there were any question of that," he added, mostly to himself.

"Anyway what did you mean about me ceding my upper ground?" Mark asked, returning to an earlier point in their conversation. "Jesus Christ, should you be smoking here?"

Collins chuckled. "Relax. It's just tobacco."

"Those'll kill you, ya know."

"Have to fight the HIV." Collins paused. "Now there's an image I like," he said. "Cancer cells and HIV viruses killing each other off until, miracle of miracles, it is revealed that I have saved my own life… by smoking and having unprotected sex."

Mark snorted with laughter. "I thought it was a blood transfusion?"

"Yeah, sex sounds better. Come on." Collins pulled Mark up and led him out of the classroom with an arm around his shoulders.

Mark blushed hotly. "People are gonna think we're dating," he protested. "Not that that's a problem but my parents will kill me if I marry a black guy. Do you think Roger's ready to have a baby?"

Collins considered. "If Mimi's pregnant," he said, "and if she decides to keep the baby, I think he'll do the right thing."

"Yeah, but is he ready?" Mark repeated. He didn't think so. Roger still considered "suck my cock" an adequate comeback. He had the maturity of a very bright rutabaga.

"No such thing. There's planned and unplanned, but ready? Naah."

---

Mimi looked at the pill bottles and sighed. The facts struck her suddenly, things like, oh, neither she nor Roger had health insurance. How would they pay hospital bills? And G-d knew there would be bills, especially if…

Mimi looked at her belly and sighed. If, if, if. And it was not a baby, not _a_ baby but a pair, two little people potentially growing diseases inside her.

Roger joined her on the couch with a cup of tea. He placed a hand on her back and winced that she looked away. "Love? What are we going to do?"

The pronoun irked her. She turned to face him. "It's my decision, Roger. My body, my choice."

He pressed his lips together for a moment, struggling with his temper, before nodding. "Okay. What are _you_ thinking?"

Mimi shrugged. "I like the idea of a little daughter," she admitted. "My own little girl…" She did not notice that Roger began to chew the inside of his cheek. "But we're sick. The babies might be sick." She shrugged. "Maybe it's just easier," she said, picking up a pamphlet off the table. They had taken a handful from the clinic, dealing with matters from abortion to breastfeeding to preventing future babies. Mimi unfolded a pamphlet dealing with abortion. "Doesn't look too painful," she mused.

Roger did not notice Mimi's rapid blinking, or if he did he did not think anything of it. "Is that all our children are to you?" he asked. "Just… just, is it going to hurt you?"

"Well it's a concern, yes!" Mimi returned. _Of course you don't understand. You're a man. _This was exactly what Mimi had been afraid of. Instead of supporting her, he was making this immeasurably more difficult. "You'd be thinking the same."

"I'm not thinking--"

"Well it's not your body, Roger!" _It's mine. My body would undergo the operation and my body would remain after, and yes, I do care if it hurts, and yeah I'm scared you could be more understanding!_

"No, but they're my children!"

"No, Roger, they're not. There is no 'they', just cells--"

He scoffed. "Oh, don't give me that! Don't dehumanize them just because it makes this easier for _you! _You know, if that's all you can think, maybe we shouldn't have children. Maybe you shouldn't be a mother at all, Mimi, if all you can think of is yourself!" Roger slammed his mug down on the table and stormed into their bedroom.

A year ago, Mimi would have followed him. Now she just sighed, shook her head, and picked up another pamphlet. She had the money, thanks to Collins. And she didn't want to infect another person with HIV. Mimi had never shared needles, never had unprotected sex, even with Roger.

But condoms can break, and there are, Mimi found, fates worse than death. She knew in her heart that she wanted a child. A child, but not a sick child, not a baby who would wither and die probably before its second birthday. That was no life.

Roger stretched out on the bed, pulled the pillow over his head and let his fist fall again and again on the pillow. It didn't hurt, but he felt slightly better. He thought of how Mark would speak to him in the third person, trying to detach from emotion and judge the situation from a distance.

_Mimi's running out of time. Roger's running out the door!_

It had never done the trick, but then, Roger had never been very good at listening. He tried narrating his own life now:

_Mimi has to decide. Roger wants babies. Roger wants a family. Roger's not ready to be a father but he doesn't have much time._

_Roger's a chickenshit little bitch sobbing into the bedsheets._

_Roger knows he's fucked up. Roger thinks he can do better, but he isn't doing better._

And there it was.

There was Mimi sitting on the couch, Roger kneeling down before her, taking the mug from her hands, and pouring out his heart. He wanted a family. He was sorry. But this was what he had always wanted.

"Roger, they could be sick--"

"But you heard the doctor," Roger said. "With an HIV-positive mother and the right treatment--"

"We didn't tell them about you."

He couldn't refute that, so he ignored it. "We'll never have this chance again, Mimi," he said. "Never again. We didn't mean to get pregnant and we never will but it happened and… maybe… we'll never have this again. Please don't take this away, Mimi. Please. It's our only chance."

Mimi sighed. "If we watch our children die…" _If we watch our children die, I will die also. You won't be, cannot be enough._

Roger nodded. "I know," he said. "But… never even having that chance…"

Mimi pulled Roger up onto the couch. They talked for a long time. They drank the tea, brewed more. Roger gave three guitar lessons that day. He kept the money in a box in his room, not in any bank, and suddenly what had that morning seemed like more than enough for a life with luxuries like soap that didn't smell like an industrial warehouse, now seemed a pauper's pittance.

This was what he wanted to bring his children into? The cold of winter, the pain of hunger, the eternity of pills?

But it was more. It was him and her and their love.

They talked for a long time before kissing and wandering into the bedroom, unable to keep their hands off each other.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Reviews would be awesome! Very, very awesome. Please?

(No, Mel, I am not superhuman.)


	7. Mark's Night

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Doubles! Collins is out of jail again!")

_"Thanks for meeting me."_

_"It's no problem." Joanne blew the steam off her coffee before taking a sip. "What's going on?" she asked, her brows drawn close with concern._

The loft was cold. Mimi pushed her feet between Roger's legs. He gave a strangled yelp and squirmed. "Aah, Mimi…"

She pouted, though he could not see her, and nestled closer against his chest. "You don't want my heart to freeze, do you?" she asked.

Roger laughed. "Your heart's not in your feet," he said. But he could not help but wrap his arms around her, rubbing her back gently and pulling her close. Mimi closed her eyes as her entire body relaxed against Roger.

_Mark unwound his scarf and held his mug of tea, touching the ceramic sides as much as he could with his cold hands. It was cold for September, the day windy and chapped. "Lately…" He had tried to plan an introduction, but even in his head he could think of no adequate words. "I think I need help, Joanne."_

_Joanne pressed her hand over Mark's mug as he began to tremble, jarring the mug against the tabletop. It took the sternest stuff she was made of not to react dramatically. "It's okay, Mark," she said._

It was cold that night, very cold, and Mark would say, if anyone asked, that it was the cold that woke him. He would not say that the loft was large and open, and sound carried. He would not say that he had been listening all night to Roger and Mimi's conversation, curled over a pain in his gut.

"What am I supposed to do without feet?" Mimi asked.

"I would carry you wherever you needed to go."

Mimi groaned. "It's impossible to play with you when you're sweet," she moaned.

_He shook his head. "No, no, I…" He took a deep breath and said, "I think… I need to see a doctor. But I can't afford--"_

_"Screw that, I'll pay," Joanne interrupted. "Whatever you need--"_

_"No, Joanne, listen, I-- I want to see a therapist."_

_Joanne paused. Her heart rate slowed to normal as the fear of words like "cancer" ebbed. She nodded. "Okay," she said._

_Mark looked up, shocked. "Okay?" he asked. "That's it? You don't… think there's anything wrong with that?"_

_"Mark," Joanne said, "you know I don't. Otherwise, why would you have come to me?"_

_"If you ever need a friend, Mark, you can always come to me. Whenever you need."_

Mark wandered to the bathroom. He threw the switch and blinked as harsh light burned his eyes. He closed the door behind him, used the toilet and washed his hands. Then he fumbled through their medicines cabinet. Here were the medicines, prenatal vitamins and Zidovudine and Tylenol. Mark knew them by color and shape, but without his glasses he could not read the labels.

"Shit."

A bottle of pills clattered into the sink. Mark lifted it, but it was slick with soapsuds and slipped from his hands to smash into his foot, raising another obscenity, and clattering on the floor. Shaking his head-- "I don't need this right now, I don't need this…"-- Mark knelt to lift the bottle. "Where is it?"

"Mark?"

He looked up.

"Mark, are you okay?"

Roger's worried tone tipped Mark off to how the scene appeared: Mark, without his glasses, kneeling by the toilet.

"I'm fine," Mark said, perhaps a touch shorter than was completely necessary. "I just dropped the--" Realizing, Mark paused, squinted, then asked, "Are you naked?"

Roger glanced down, as though realizing for the first time. It was a strange feeling, becoming newly aware of the body he had known for years. "Does that bother you?" It certainly did not bother Roger. He had nothing to hide. Should he be ashamed of displaying the scar from an operation when he was twelve, the tattoo on his lower back, his penis? "You've seen me naked."

"No," Mark said. "I haven't."

Roger chuckled. "Now you have."

"I can't see a fucking thing."

"Right. Come on." Roger offered a hand to Mark.

_Come on, what?_ Mark thought, suddenly angry. _What are you going to do, Roger, put me to bed?_ "I'm not through in here," he said. "I need some privacy."

Roger nodded. "Okay," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Fine," Mark repeated. He remained on the floor as Roger turned and left the room, returning to the bedroom. Briefly Mark heard the sound of Mimi asking about him and Roger's murmured replied, then the door was shut and they began to make love.

Mark's stomach twisted. _No,_ he thought. _I'm not, it's wrong because he's taken, he's not for me, I don't feel that. _Yet he could not help but wish that was his voice crying Roger's name.

Mark replaced the bottle of pills and found a small box of razor blades. He sighed. She-- his therapist-- said this was bad, at least agreed when he said it, but Mark wondered or he didn't care. He placed a small line on his arm, near his elbow, and enjoyed the sting as a few drops of blood puckered up through the skin.

And for a handful of moments, it was all okay.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Reviews would be awesome! Please?

(at this point, I don't know if Mimi is going to have the babies, but I'm loving how riled up everyone is over that!)


	8. Mimi's Decision

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playin' with the characters ("Way to go, Mark! You helped the Yoshis find the Super Happy Tree!")

Also major credit to rexmanningdays and crazybeef for catching the 'Scrubs' line. (Mark is kind of like J.D.)

* * *

It was morning. Mark's face was pressed into his pillow, his eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands were clamped over his ears. Roger and Mimi were fighting again.

"I just don't see how you can want to kill our babies!"

"Roger, _listen_ to yourself! This is my choice!"

"But I deserve a say! And Mimi, if you didn't care what I had to say you would've done it already! Collins gave you the money, didn't he?" Mimi said nothing, but her expression spoke for her. Roger nodded. "Thought so. But you didn't get rid of them, Mimi, because you want them. Some part of you wants these children."

"Of course I want them," she hissed, fighting back tears. "Of course I do, Roger, but they will die. They will be sick--"

"That's not _written_ in the _stars_, Mimi! There's a chance, yes, but everyone dies. Everyone… they will, too," he said, nodding his head. "They will, by HIV or, or pneumonia or a car accident, G-d knows, but they deserve the chance to live! Everyone dies but most get to live first--"

She interrupted, "Everyone dies? That's how you justify this? Everyone dies? All this boils down to is that you want babies. That's all you're thinking about, Roger, what _you_ want and how you can get it."

"Yes, I want that!" Roger tried to snap, but he faltered. He coughed. "You can't fault me for wanting a family," he murmured.

"No." Roger turned away from her, gripping the table and squeezing his eyes shut. Mimi went to stand beside him. "I don't fault you, Roger," she said. "Not for wanting babies. But for ignoring that I am sick, and so are you, yes. Yes, I find fault there. Just because you want something doesn't mean you can have it, Roger. You're not a child. You need to accept that."

Roger shoved Mimi's hand off his shoulder. "You think I don't know that?" he asked. "But this…" Roger caught himself and shook his head. "Look. Let's… let's think about this, okay? Just take some time not talking about it."

Mimi nodded. "Okay," she said, feeling her heels dig in.

Mimi visited Collins' class on Wednesday and again on Friday. She told him she couldn't help herself. She just wanted to learn. He asked her to stay after class and asked her how everything was going. The first time he asked, she only said, "I still have it."

On Friday he handed her a beat-up copy of Homer's _Odyssey._ "It's due next week," he said, "if you plan on coming."

"What would you do?" Mimi asked. "If this was your baby?"

"If I was a pregnant woman?" Collins asked. "Or if I got my girlfriend pregnant?"

"I wasn't even going to tell him," Mimi said. She folded her arms over her stomach. The idea of two little people inside her made her tremble. "I was actually…" she paused. Her fingers twitched, wishing for a cigarette. "I _was_ going to ask if you would take me to the clinic. But now…" Mimi shook her head. "Roger's being an ass."

Collins nodded. "He has a habit of doing that."

"Collins, help me."

"Decide what you want, Mimi."

"I already know that," she snapped. "I don't want HIV-positive babies. I want children but… not like this. So does he, by the way. The difference is that I know we can't have them." She sighed. "And I don't want to lose him, either, but… it's not fair to bring two children into the world who are just going to die. And what if they don't? Roger's lucky, he could live another ten years. Then what? Our nine-year-olds get adopted? Put in foster care? You know, if it wasn't for the disease, I would have them. That's the worst part. If not for this stupid sickness--"

Mimi interrupted herself. She had learned years ago how to cry quietly, how to swallow the gulping sobs that would choke her and shudder her tiny frame. The knowledge fled as she sat on Collins' desk, disgusted with herself, with Roger, with the entire world for being cruel and unfair.

---

"Okay, now watch. Thread the string through, here-- you have to be careful, because if you do this the wrong way you can't tune the guitar. Then through here-- remember what this is called?"

"Bridge."

"Right. And you twist it like that… and there you go. There's your D string. Next time you'll do it yourself."

"Yeah."

"Let's hear you tune it."

_"This won't tune!"_

_"So we hear."_

"Nice! Your E is a little off, but close. Here. This is what it should sound like."

"I'm too high."

"Yes. Better. There. Okay. What were we doing last week?"

"Woody Guthrie."

"Woody Guthrie, okay. Did you practice? Play it for me."

Twenty-four minutes, and many mangled run-throughs of "This Land is Your Land" later, Gabriel ("Friday, 4:00") left the loft. Roger placed the money in the box under the bed. _How much does an abortion cost?_ He shook his head. _I want them… but I can't stop her if that's what she wants._ Roger frowned. He wasn't certain he had the money for an abortion

He knew Mimi had Collins' money, but these were not Collins' babies. They were his babies. If Mimi decided that she wanted an abortion, if that was her choice, Roger would pay, not Collins.

_"Being powerless does not justify making the wrong choice," Collins said._

_Roger had heavy smudges under his eyes. He hadn't slept well in weeks, at all in the past few days. It was midnight or later, and he sat cross-legged with a cup of tea in his hands. "But how do we know it's the wrong choice?"_

_"That's always the wrong choice."_

_"She would have suffered--"_

_"Am I suffering?" That caught him silent. "April chose a coward's way out. I'm not suffering. And give it time, Roger," Collins continued. "Give it time, and neither will you. You do have time. This is only death as much as life is death."_

Roger sighed. He wanted those children, but if Mimi chose to have them aborted, he would swallow his anger. He would pay as much as he could, he would hold her hand, he would make himself do the right thing.

Following this resolution, Roger locked the box, stood, and settled on the couch with the acoustic guitar. He didn't think, just opened, humming until the tune became recognizable and the hum became words, sometimes original, sometimes old.

When Roger looked up from the guitar, Mark was sitting on the couch watching him. "Hey," Roger said. "Enjoying the show?"

Mark cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to…" He moved to stand, but Roger stayed him with a hand on his arm.

"You didn't. Stay." Mark did. "You want me to play you something?" Roger asked.

"If you're in the mood. Or… if you want to talk about…" he trailed off. Roger knew what he meant.

He nodded and set down the guitar. "I can't shake the feeling that they're already people," he said. "Isn't that horrible? I'm pro-choice, Mark, you know that, but… I mean, this… this isn't rape or, or incest, this is me and Mimi, and…" Roger sighed. "I've just wanted this for so long," he said. "Boys aren't supposed to think like that, but even when I was a kid…"

_I'd have your baby, Roger._ Mark started, shocked at the thought. _What? I can't have Roger's baby, I'm a man! I don't have a uterus or a vagina or… or any of the other things you need to have a baby._

_But if I was a woman…_ Mark gave himself a firm shake.

"I just feel like they're children already and it would be killing them," Roger concluded. "But it's her choice," he added hastily. "I don't mean to be unfair to Mimi."

Mark smiled gently. "It's okay for you to want things, too," he said.

"Yeah," Roger said, risking a grin. Mark grinned back, so Roger let his smile widen, and soon both were laughing. It was into this fog of giggles that Mimi stepped, her eyes rimmed in red. Roger, then Mark, fell silent as they noticed her. "Love--"

Mimi opened her mouth and forced out two short, clipped words: "It's done."

Then she went into Roger's room before he could speak.

To be continued!


	9. Forgive, or Get Out

_I respect anyone's views and certainly don't mean to enforce my views on others, but I am pro-choice. Just to clear that up._

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playin' with the characters. ("It's okay, Roger, lotsa people are bad at hopscotch!")

And a shout-out to Cordyangel for catching the AIDA reference!

* * *

_Mimi flinched when she saw the needle and instinctively shied away. They wanted to jab her with that? She clutched Collins' hand tightly._

_"You're okay," he promised her. "You'll be okay, Mimi."_

_"Is this going to hurt?" she asked, nibbling her lip._

_The doctor-- he was a doctor, right?-- nodded. Mimi wished there had been a female doctor. She didn't want this done by a man. "There will be some pain," he said. "I can administer a shot of valium if you need."_

_Collins frowned. "I don't see an anesthetist," he said. _

_"Just do it," Mimi said. She was beginning to lose her nerve._

"Mimi?"

She was curled on her side, lying on his bed. Her body trembled in tiny bucks that reminded Roger all too much of withdrawal as she exhaled hard gasps.

"Hey."

He forced himself to swallow before sitting on the edge of the bed. She breathed, just breathed, and wiped at her eyes. "You must be freezing." Roger pulled the blankets up and settled them around Mimi's body. She whimpered. Roger could think of nothing more to say to her, so he kissed her forehead and headed for the door.

"Roger?" Her quiet call froze him. "Are you angry?"

Being angry won't bring my children back. "No."

A knot in her chest loosened, and Mimi breathed easier. "Will you stay with me?"

I hate you.

The thought sprang unbidden into Roger's mind, and it surprised him. He was not that cold, that callus, and this… Nothing was worth losing Mimi. He had almost lost her at Christmas, he wouldn't be doing that again in a hurry.

"Yeah." He sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots, then slipped his feet free and stretched out on the bed next to Mimi.

He's angry.

She did not need to ask. She knew already. She knew by the way Roger lay beside her, instead of holding her. But Mimi said nothing. What could she gain?

And the last thing Mimi could endure at the moment was rejection. Roger had a special talent for rejection. He could reject and remain the chief thought on her mind. He would not let her forget his rejection.

It's so cold…

Her whimpers echoed in her mind, the tiny sounds she made as the needle entered her body, as she tried and failed to silently endure the pain. Mimi wiped her face and realized that those whimpers were not echoes.

"Mimi."

Roger pulled her body against his, and the cold began to ebb. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, Mimi."

"I'm sorry I killed your babies, Roger." And she was beginning, through suffering the judgment in his eyes, to believe that.

"Shh. I was being selfish." The words were easier now that the choice was made. "It's your body, Mimi. I had no right to dictate how you used it." Now that the choice was made, Roger had nothing to be upset about. It was done. He could not un-abort the babies. Roger wanted children, and he hadn't gotten them.

But I have, he reminded himself. _Here, now. I have Mimi._ That was what mattered now. No day but today. _Right?_

he reminded himself. That was what mattered now. No day but today. 

"It hurt so much…"

---

"I did some filming this week," Mark said, fidgeting in the chair. The fabric ranged from threadbare to fuzzy in an artistic vomit. Mark stroked two fuzzy stripes as he spoke.

"What did you film?"

"Uh… I filmed my roommate and, uh, his girlfriend. Talking about her abortion." Mark felt a tiny glimmer of victory as his therapist's face registered surprise. "I thought… She just came in, and told us she'd had it. The abortion. And I had a very horrible thought," Mark admitted. "I thought if Roger broke up with Mimi, I could be there for him again. I would have a chance. But, uh, well, he _didn't_ break up with her, and I kind of felt like… jeez. That's a pretty horrible thing to think, isn't it? I'm… kind of a fuckwad." Mark giggled. "Roger likes that word, fuckwad."

She asked him then, "Did you cut yourself?"

Mark remembered once, Collins had asked if Roger shot up. Roger had been feeling pretty awful. He was physically through with withdrawal, but depressed, more sensitive than usual, and no one truly believed that all of Roger's smack was out of the loft. And something-- Mark forgot what-- had happened, and Collins asked Roger if he shot up.

The result had been fairly horrid. It was one of the few times Mark heard Roger shout at Collins. _"I fucked up, I get it, okay? That doesn't mean I don't know how to cope!"_

Mark had told him off for it later, gently, reminding him that they were only worried about him. Roger, dead-eyed, had asked Mark to leave the room, and Mark was too frightened to resist.

Now he stood and, without a word, walked out of his therapist's office.

He kept walking through the streets of New York, hands jammed into the pockets of his plaid coat as the wind chapped his cheeks. He kept walking until he had come to Joanne's office, where a nervous secretary "buzzed Ms. Jefferson" to inform her that she "has a visitor, Mark Cohen," the name over enunciated.

"Let him come in," Joanne answered. And as much as Joanne wished she could be waiting for Mark with a hug and hours to spend sorting through his problems, she was busy, and her eyes were on the computer as she told him, "Hey, Mark."

"Hi. If this is a bad time--"

"No, it's fine. Have a seat, please, let me just… there!"

Mark had never seen Joanne at work. He was not completely surprised, or completely impressed. She looked corporate, reliable, powerful but open. He perched on the edge of a chair. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about, um, that therapist."

He had her full attention now. "Yes?" Joanne asked.

"I…" Mark shook his head, fully aware of how selfish he was going to sound, how ridiculous and childish and weak. "I really don't feel that I should be seeing her."

Joanne's eyes widened a hair. _After telling everyone, you want to quit?_ "Why not?" she asked.

"Well…" and a heavy sigh. "I, um… I have a problem that I just don't think she understands."

"Really?" Joanne clearly did not believe him. "So you want to see someone else?" she asked.

"Um… I don't… that's not… we can just…" Mark sighed. "I'll pay you back somehow," he promised. "I'll find a way, Joanne, I just… I need…"

"Mark, just tell me what you don't like about her."

Mark bit his lip. _Joanne wants to help. Joanne cares about you-- so why are you so difficult for her?_ "I will pay you back," he repeated, then realized suddenly where he had heard those words before.

"I'll pay you back. I'm sorry. I just… one… I just needed one," Roger babbled, shaking from the bleached-blond roots of his hair to the grungy toes of his duct-taped sneakers. "I'll pay you back."

"Roger, look at yourself. Stealing, from your friend. For that. What happened to the Roger I knew? What happened to my friend, where is he? Where, in the drug-infested body--"

"I said I'd pay you back!" he snapped. Roger needed to get past Collins. He needed to get into his room, he needed to take some, a dab would do it, then he could go out, find some work maybe and… and…

Collins wouldn't budge. "Then pay me back." He held out his hand. "Pay me back, Roger, right now."

"I don't have--"

"Yeah, you do. You have something worth exactly what you took. Now pay me back."

"It's okay, Mark. You don't need to pay me back. I just don't like the idea that you spent all that time with her, and she didn't help you."

Mark shook his head. "You know what? This is silly. It has to be tough, right? I had a bad session. No reason to give up."

Joanne gave an encouraging smile, reminded Mark that she was always there for him, then hugged him good-bye. Mark went home to a loft where Mimi had finally cried herself to sleep. Roger was sitting awake on the couch playing a Beatles song.

And Mark could not, for the life of him, understand. His grip fled him, and he could think of nothing to do or say. He stripped down to his underwear and stretched out on his bed. It was late November. Mark wait for his toes to feel numb. His fingers. His feet. His hands.

He rolled himself up in the blanket and fell asleep.

Roger was playing "Desperado."

TO BE CONTINUED!

After next chapter, the pace should pick up.

Reviews would be so very, very appreciated! Please?


	10. Christmas

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Catch, Mark!")

"Collins!"

Roger hug was half attack, and he knocked Collins back a step.

"Roger, you know I love you, man, but Mimi might get jealous," Collins said after returning the hug. "Besides. I think it's better if we stay friends."

"Oh, suck my cock," Roger retorted, an insult, not an invitation. "Come on, we got gingerbread!" Roger announced happily, turning back to the loft and hurrying to the 'kitchen'.

The loft had been fully (cheaply) done up for Christmas. A sheet of something like sturdier cellophane with a picture of a Christmas tree hung over one of the windows. There were even a few badly-wrapped packages underneath it. The aforementioned gingerbread had announced itself by smell, making the entire loft spicy and, somehow, warm, though the beat-up, second-hand radiator helped.

"How long has he been like this?" Collins asked. He hugged Mark. "Merry Christmas." _Too merry…_

"Uh, since a week after… y'know," Mark replied, straightening his glasses. "Merry Christmas."

"How are you?"

Mark shrugged. "You?"

Collins groaned. "Glad to be finished with this semester. I had a student declare war on me--"

Mimi stepped into the room. "You mean Izzy?" she asked. "Izzy loves you."

Collins turned, rolling his eyes, ready with a retort, but fell silent when he saw Mimi. "What… how… No." Collins shook his head. "That's not possible. I was _with you_, in the clinic. I saw…" He shook his head once more, unable to take his eyes off the bulge at Mimi's midsection, an undeniable sign of the twin fetuses inside her. "You had an abortion, Mimi."

Suddenly Roger was at her side, an arm around her waist. "It didn't work," he said.

Collins' gaze swept from Roger to Mimi, his mind racing, trying to discern how this was possible. He had seen the procedure, nothing Roger could possibly have done would negate-- _Roger wouldn't,_ Collins told himself firmly, surprised by the thought. "You didn't try again?" he asked. "Mimi, you know I would've--"

She shook her head. "That's not what we want," she said.

Or not what he wants. Before Collins had the chance to say it, the door opened behind him and Maureen announced, "All right, the party can begin!"

Joanne followed her, in a mild huff. "Mark," Joanne said, smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm great." They embraced. "How are you?"

Mark opened his mouth, but before he had the chance to respond, Maureen squealed, "Oh my G-d!" All eyes turned to her as she hugged Mimi and Roger at the same time. Roger looked vaguely terrified as he patted Maureen on the back. "Congratulations!" She released them and held Mimi at arm's length. A soft look melted Maureen's features into a half-smile. "Oh… how long, Mimi?"

Joanne saw Mimi's pregnant belly for the first time. "Are you insane?" she demanded. "You can't have babies! You have AIDS!"

Roger turned to Mimi. "I _told_ you we'd forgotten something!" he said. "We've got AIDS! How could we forget that?"

Mimi laughed. For a moment, any sense of sorrow faded-- but it was there, a vague shimmer in her eyes as she smiled. "It was an accident," she told Joanne. "But, they're here now." She shrugged. "Come on. Roger may lose his mind if someone doesn't eat some gingerbread soon."

"That's right!"

Cookies were eaten and presents, such as they were, deposited under the "tree", and the family settled around the loft with plates of cheap Chinese food. Joanne and Maureen were curled in a chair together, Joanne looking distinctly uncomfortable. Mark sat at one end of the couch while Mimi and Roger cuddled at the other. Collins was cross-legged on the table, despite the empty chair.

"I think this is the most peaceful Christmas we've had in… wow, three years."

"Wow," Joanne agreed.

"So, are we gonna play the game or what?" Roger asked. "Mark, you go first. Play with… um… seventeen."

Mark sighed. "All right." He swallowed a bite of chow mein noodles before saying: "When I was seventeen…" Mark blushed. "I was dating Nanette Himmelfarb. So I went over to the rabbi's house for the first night of Chanukah and… his wife's latkes, ugh, she froze them months in advance!" He laughed. "It took mounds of applesauce and sour cream to make them edible. And, um, Nanette had a younger brother and sister and I played driedl with them, after which Nanette…"

Mark paused. Should he tell this story? _Nanette, holding onto his arm as they walked into school. "You were adorable with the kids. You'll be such a sweet daddy, Mark…"_ "And, Nanette broke up with me because of that night." Mark thought he was fabricating this story quite well. "I don't know exactly why…"

Mark closed his eyes. That was enough. His part was done, and he was free to escape. It was a beach this time, just before dawn. He stepped out onto the damp sand and made the first footprint on the earth.

"Aww, poor Mark," Maureen said, pouting adorably at him.

Joanne scoffed. "Look who's talking!" Everyone laughed at that.

"Joanne," Mark said. "You play. Since Roger will no doubt regale us with tales of horror," Mark jabbed, earning a blush of false modesty from Roger, "tell us about a happy Christmas memory."

"Um…" Joanne considered for a moment. "Okay. I was twelve. We were on vacation, I don't know where, but my mom was supposed to fly out and meet us-- my dad and I-- that day. Her flight got delayed and we were stuck inside because of a snowstorm. We spend the entire day playing board games, eating French fries and watching TV."

Maureen laughed. "Your best Christmas was when your mom wasn't there?" she asked. "That's sad!"

"It was fun!" Joanne protested. "That wasn't what my life was usually like, it was so… rigid and ordered. It was nice to be lazy and indulgent!"

"Amen!" Mimi giggled. She drank flat Coke from a red plastic cup.

"Let's hear your happy memory, Meems," Maureen said.

Roger shook his head. "No, no, no, that's not the rules, Maureen. One challenge _each_. We agreed."

"Fine." Maureen subtly flipped him the bird.

"Anyway, Joanne asks."

Joanne sighed. "Okay," she said. "Mimi. Tell us about… a Christmas you'll never forget."

"Okay…" Mimi paused, thinking, then her face slowly lit. She cuddled closer to Roger. "I was using, pretty bad," she said. "I had no place to live so I was on the streets. I was cold. Hungry beyond feeling it. And I was ready to die. I didn't care anymore." Roger held her. As Mimi's faltering voice filled the room, all the heat seemed to leave it. "And just as I was thinking maybe now would be a good time to just close my eyes and die, someone came along and picked me up. And she took me back to her apartment, where she made me drink some water and she made… pancakes."

The family started. _Pancakes?_ Because they had all remembered the previous year, but there had been no pancakes. There had been stale Cap'n Crunch and a lot of huddling together against the cold. Mimi smiled. "That's when I met Angel," she said. "Oh, we had met before-- I applauded her telling off that skinhead. But this time… that's the first time Angel saved me."

Roger held Mimi more tightly. Maureen cooed. But Mimi was having none of it. "Okay, now I want to hear you story, Maureen. Talk about your first Christmas away from home."

"Oh, that's easy," Maureen said. "I was in the city, in this production-- some little show that did no good for itself-- and I went to the cast's Christmas party."

"How many men did you sleep with?" Mimi asked. By this time everyone was engrossed in the telling of stories. Only Roger continued eating-- and Roger was always eating.

Maureen laughed. "Only one!" she said. "Anyway, we were lonely, that's all. And single. Well, I was, anyway. I want to hear Collins' story now. Tell us about-- what, stop shaking your head, Roger. You always challenge Collins and it's always about the last few years, I want to know about when he was a kid. Come on, let's have a story about little Tom Collins!"

"You don't have to--"

"If I can remember," Collins interrupted Roger, "I don't mind. Christmas never meant all that much to me," he admitted. "I remember getting a stuffed rabbit one year. It was cycloptic, really old and losing its fur, but I didn't appreciate at the time that you aren't meant to love things that are used beyond repair."

"What was the bunny's name?" Maureen asked.

Collins snorted. "Benny Rabbit," he said, much to the amusement of his companions. "And now I think it's time for the story of how Roger's parents traumatized him. It's just not Christmas without childhood trauma."

Roger rolled not his eyes but his entire head. "Right," he said. "Um… did I tell you the story about the Guns 'n' Roses record?"

"Yes!" chorused Maureen, Collins and Mark.

Roger stuck out his tongue. "Fine. Okay, this story isn't about me, this is about my brother Frankie. Shut up, Maureen. Okay, so one Christmas, well, winter--"

"Then it's not really a _Christmas-_-"

"Shut up, Maureen. Frankie caught a cold. We thought. But it turned out he had pneumonia. Because Frankie… Frankie and me used to go out on the fire escape to listen to records and tapes and stuff. Because then my dad couldn't catch us and row. One night I told Frankie I'd be home to play records for him, since he wasn't allowed to touch my stuff--"

"Oh, that's nice--"

"Shut up, Maureen. I blew him off to get high with my friends, and Frankie stayed out late waiting and caught pneumonia. And he--"

"Died?"

"Maureen Johnson I said shut the fuck up! No, okay, listen, Frankie got really sick and he was in the hospital-- said it and I'll kick your ass, Maureen-- so it was after Christmas but one day I ditched school to be with Frankie, um, and then I brought my guitar and asked him what he wanted, but he said he wanted me to make crank calls. So I did. For like two hours. The bill was tremendous, Dad had me working in his store for weeks. I'd do it again, though."

"Of course you would, Roger," Collins said. "You're a moron."

Roger opened his mouth to retort and Maureen said, "The only person likely to suck your cock is Mimi, Roger, so don't bother."

"I'd suck Roger's cock." It was not until the entire room had fallen silent that Mark realized he had said that out loud. "Hey, if you paid me enough I'd do anything!" he added. "I'd lick your bathroom floor clean. I'm a sell-out remember?"

Later, after Maureen and Joanne had left, Mimi walked Collins out. He had wanted a word with her. "Is Roger making you do this?" he asked. "Mimi, if you don't want the babies--"

"I don't," Mimi admitted, "but I do. And he does. But most importantly, Collins…" Mimi shook her head. "I can't go through that again. I can't. Can't afford to and… and just can't."

She knew she was selfish to say it. Hell, Roger was selfish in wanting babies, too. But under the pragmatic reasoning, the lack of cash and concern for her health, Mimi doubted she was strong enough to face the pain, the wait, and Roger's poorly concealed anger.

In the loft, Roger asked Mark, "You didn't mean what you said, did you?"

"What about?" Mark asked tiredly. His eyelids were getting heavier by the minute and as he plucked at the sleeves of the maroon jumper Roger had given him for a present and badgered him into wearing, Mark could think of nothing but his nice, warm (empty) bed.

"Doing anything for cash. Sucking cock."

"Oh." Mark shook his head. "No, I… it was just a joke."

Roger nodded. "Good. Well… good night."

"Good night." _Hug me?_ The desire, the need, bubbled deep within Mark, and he opened his mouth to ask.

Then the door to Roger's room slammed shut, and there was no one to reply.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Concerning Mimi's abortion: she had saline injection which is usually reliable but not always. (Not like a D&E or anything, when you KNOW. This is fairly reliable but has on occasion failed.)

Reviews would be very appreciated! Please?


	11. When You're Upset

Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson. I'm just playing with the characters. ("Batter up! That's you, Angel!") 

_"The amazing thing about being upset… when you're upset, you want to be alone. I mean, you don't, obviously, you want… someone there… to hold you. Pet you. Tell you it's all right. But…" Mark chuckled. "You're too scared to realize you can have that."_

He was asleep.

Mimi pulled Roger's coat on over her pajamas-- she paused, wryly amused by the thought. "Her" pajamas. "Her" pajamas were an old pair of sweats, Roger's. She had picked them out, in fact pulled them on one night well before the babies, when she still had the option of rolling off the bed, naked and slick with sweat, and knowing that Roger swiftly lost bloodflow to his brain just watching her.

To think she had once wanted that!

Mimi shook her head. She climbed out onto the fire escape and sat on the steps. Months, only _months_ previously Mimi had been able to slide her knees up inside the zippered jacket. Now she was too bulging to do so.

"Ugh."

Mimi felt thoroughly ready to burst, yet she sat on the cusp of her third trimester. The thought of another three months of this made her want to hurl. The thought of her HIV-positive children made her want to hurl. The thought that she had been placating her boyfriend for the past three months made her want to hurl.

Will I lose my dignity?

She had. She had lost her _self._ Mimi loved Roger-- she knew it, everyone knew it. Mimi loved Roger. When had she decided to sacrifice her happiness for his love?

Even as she wondered, Mimi knew. She couldn't blame Roger. She wanted children, too-- but she wanted happy children, healthy little things to grow up in a secure world, to struggle with homework and have their mom and dad cry as they left for college. Her babies wouldn't have that. Even if they were healthy, they would be in foster care within their first decade, counting on Roger's luck.

And Mimi couldn't have another abortion. After the pain, the shame of the first one-- the look in Mark's eyes. Mark. It was Mark who hated her for Roger's pain.

_Why does he bother?_ Mimi wondered. _I already hate myself. _

_"And we don't want to be alone. No one wants that. But we don't want to be seen like this, weak, pained. So we go somewhere where we won't be followed but will be found. There are these two fears just… attacking each other: fear of loneliness, fear of companionship. Judgment."_

Mimi wondered.

Mimi shoved her hands into the pockets of Roger's jacket. Something familiar crumpled under the pressure. She laughed.

"Good ol' Roger," Mimi joked, a cliché she had never before used. Good ol' Roger. _We won't smoke. We won't drink._ His idea, keep the babies healthy, as though skipping a few glasses of wine would keep the HIV away. Mimi felt a vague guilt as she took one of his final three Lucky's, but scoffed that away is illogical. She lit up.

Mimi liked Alphabet City, this early. She liked the quiet, the peace, the fact that she was too high up to see the garbage in the streets. This could be anywhere: an alleyway in Vienna, stretching far with buildings towering up on either side, tenements. In America it would be frightening, an alley to quicken your heartbeat. Not here, though. This is Vienna, history. And at the end of the alley, a rickety elevator, a plastiglass shaft with a staircase curled around it, the windows grungy but not graffitied up. And at the top, stairs of which to be wary in the dark, an apartment--

"Meems?"

"When we are found-- if someone knows us well enough, cares enough-- it's a moment of terror. Your heart stops. This moment will make or break… your life. And it's completely outside your control. It's… it's very… frightening. It's very frightening."

Roger climbed out to join on her. He flinched when he caught sight of the cigarette. "I… um…" He paused.

Mimi rolled her eyes, and for a moment cast off the pregnant student she had become to once more embody the sarcastic Cat Scratch dancer. "Are you gonna come sit?" she asked. Roger did. She offered him the cigarette and he took a drag.

"Oh, that's good."

"I haven't made you say that in a while."

Roger laughed. He handed the cigarette back and wrapped one arm around Mimi's shoulders. "You okay?" he asked. "It's cold." The clouds promised rain before noon.

Mimi nodded. _I don't want to have your babies, Roger. I want you to take me to the clinic right now, today! It's such a lovely day for an abortion, isn't it? It's grey and gloomy and it's going to rain. You can go up to the roof and sit in the rain and drink those Guiness cans I'm not supposed to know about. I'll drop acid and feel good again. Roger, Roger, it'll be a good time._ "I just… needed to think."

"A… about--"

"No." Mimi shook her head. "We're having the babies." She kissed any further words from his lips. "I was thinking about… work."

"Work?"

Mimi nodded. "As in, I don't. I can't very well dance," she said, indicating the reason. "I don't like doing nothing, though. Nothing to do, no money…"_We have money,_ Roger wanted to say, but he bit his lip, remembering the months when he didn't work, how difficult it was to swallow knowing Mark had bought the bread while Roger still couldn't bring himself to leave the loft. "How about school?" he asked. "We could find you some correspondence courses."

"You can't think of a job, either, can you?"

"No," Roger admitted. "No, I can't." _Not an unskilled job that lets you sit down…_ He pulled her close. "But we'll find something. Okay? And if not…" Roger shrugged. "We'll just get by, okay? Just like always."

Mimi scoffed. "We've barely been together--" then she stopped. Realizing, Mimi turned to Roger and said, "Two years. We made it two years, Roger." With copious fighting and enough drama to fill a small theater for the summer season, but nevertheless.

Roger kissed her. "Yeah, we did," he agreed. "We're going out tonight."

Mimi's first thought was: _party!_ "Should I call Maureen and Collins?"

"For a double-date?"

_"I've found that I can cry when I cut. It's... it's an identical feeling."_

_"Why do you think that is?"_

_"Both require the same belief."_

_"And what belief is that?"_

_"The belief that no one cares."_

TO BE CONTINUED!

Reviews would be very much appreciated! Please?


	12. Without the Happy Ending

Disclaimer: RENT Jonathan Larson's. The song Roger sings is The Eagles'.

"Hey, Roger, look what I found."

Roger finished shutting the door as his last student of the day (Annette, Tuesday 5:00) left the loft then turned to see Mark holding up a jigsaw puzzle and grinning maniacally. "You… found a jigsaw?"

"Yeah," Mark affirmed, nodding. "I thought… it's so cold… we could just spend the night in pajamas drinking cocoa and tea and doing a jigsaw, like we used to." When you were in withdrawal and needed me every damn minute. Mark's eyes widened in surprise. Had that truly been a feeling of nostalgia for the days of withdrawal?

Roger shook his head. "I'm taking Mimi out tonight. But hey, we'll do that tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah," Mark said, certain now. He did miss those days. He missed not needing an appointment to see his best friend.

---

Rain pounded, carrying slicks of oil into gutters and forming torrential rivers where gutters were blocked by piles of garbage. The wind picked up, as well, snatching up anything not soaked into the ground, sending rain in lashes against windowpanes and sprays into the faces of young couples foolish enough to be out in this weather, naïve enough to be happy, laughing through their awkward, clinging run.

Roger carried the umbrella-- his height made that decision. As he and Mimi huddled by the door to the building, he laughed. "Don't you love the rain?" he shouted over the noise of the weather, watching it rearrange the trash of Avenue B.

"I'll love it more when I'm inside," Mimi replied, smiling as she fumbled with her keys. The lock turned, and she pushed the door open. Roger ushered her inside, then raced in after her and pulled the door to. The din of the rain diminished to a dull rumble.

Roger folded the umbrella and set it aside. He looked at Mimi and began to smile, but smiling wasn't enough. He chuckled and felt as though a pressure had been drained from his chest.

They kissed.

"I had fun tonight," Mimi said. She rested her arms around his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

"That's a surprise?" Roger asked, mocking offense.

Mimi laughed. "No."

"Come on. Let's get upstairs, it's freezing down here."

They giggled up the stairs, hanging on to one another. Roger looked over his shoulder to smile at Mimi as he unlocked the door. He hooked an arm around her hips and guided her in, nuzzling her neck. They laughed, trying and failing to stifle the sound.

"Let me just get the condoms."

"Can't believe we bother."

Roger pulled away from Mimi and immediately stopped laughing.

Mark was sitting on the couch with his back to the door, his face pressed into one of the cushions. His hair was matted down, damp, and he was only wearing a pair of jeans despite the cold. He was crying.

"Oh, G-d. Um, Mimi… can we pick this up tomorrow?"

"Wha--" Mimi began, then followed his gaze. "Of course." She rested a hand on his shoulder to lever herself up to kiss his cheek before slipping out the door, leaving behind the sounds of sobs and rain.

"Mark?" Roger crossed the room quickly and settled beside his friend on the couch. He rested a hand on Mark's arm and one on his trembling back. "What's wrong?" Roger asked quietly. The hand on Mark back began to move, petting him slightly. "Is it something… did someone… did someone do something, did something happen, or… is it just one of those nights?" Roger knew all about "those nights". He had his fair share.

"Oh, G-d, Roger," Mark sobbed. "Just go away."

Roger shook his head. His hand moved to Mark's head and fluffed his hair. "I can't do that, Mark."

"Please! Go to Mimi's."

"You know I'll do anything for you, Mark, but I can't do that. I can't--"

"Go away! Go away!" Mark raised his head sharply, throwing off Roger's hands. "Go away! Go! Go, dammit, it's what you do, isn't it? Go away!"

Roger recoiled. A year. An entire year had gone and still Mark had not forgiven him. No, he's hysterical, he doesn't mean it "Mark--"

"Leave me alone!" he begged, the words torn from his throat with great effort.

"Mark." Roger did the only thing he could think of: he pulled Mark against him and held him tightly. "It's okay, Mark. It's okay. Shh." Mark didn't struggle. He allowed Roger to hold him, rock him and comfort him. Roger felt tears rising and shook them away.

Mark kept sobbing. To keep the noise from engulfing them both, and because it frightened him more than a little, Roger began to sing:

"Tell me the truth, how do you feel?  
Like you're rollin' so fast that you're spinnin' your wheels?"

He slowed the tempo of the song considerably, making it a soft lullaby.

"Don't feel too bad, you're not all alone.  
We're all tryin' to get along."

It was a song Roger had given Mark before, a song he thought eternally applicable to Mark's specific situation.

"No man's got it made till he's far beyond the pain  
And we who must remain do on living just the same."

When the song ended ("We who must remain go on laughing just the same") Roger pulled away. Mark looked up at him, blinking and shivering, unable to speak as Roger pushed tears off his cheeks. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to bed. This'll be better tomorrow."

Roger led Mark into his bedroom and pulled back the covers; Mark pulled away. "I need a sweatshirt," he mumbled, and found one, not too dirty, on the floor. He dragged it over his head, then lay down dutifully. He pulled the blankets over his body and pressed his crying face into the pillow.

"Hey." Roger stroked his hair. "Do you want me to stay in here tonight?

"Go fuck your girlfriend." The acidity of his tone surprised Mark.

It was the first time Roger thought to smell for alcohol; he frowned, surprised at himself, but could not detect a hint of it. "Are you sure you want to be alone--"

"Yes," Mark snapped, "I'm sure. I know what I want. Go away!"

In his own bed, Roger brought his knees to his chest and closed his eyes. The darkness stifled him, pressing down with the knowledge that he was powerless and had done nothing as Mark's heaving sobs filled the loft. Roger pressed his hands over his ears, but the sound poured through.

What am I doing? Oh, yeah. I'm lying in bed trying to ignore the fact that my best friend is crying. What the hell is wrong with me?

Roger kicked off the blankets and strode into Mark's room. He didn't ask anything, just crawled under the blankets with his friend. Mark stopped crying. "Hey," Roger said.

"Hey."

TO BE CONTINUED!

Reviews would be awesome! Please?


	13. The Lesbian and the Whore

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Roger and Mimi's relationship had become bipolar as she approached her seventh month of pregnancy.

Mark knew how his day would follow by what woke him. Good days began with breakfast-- Roger cooking pancakes or making toast and honey (strawberry jam, for Mark, who hated honey). Bad days began with Roger screaming, and Mimi screaming back. On those mornings, Mark rolled over and closed his eyes and tried to shut their angry voices out of his ears.

"Well if we fight over something this insignificant, I don't think we should have children at all!"

"We didn't plan to, you know that!"

"I should've had an abortion. It's not too late--"

"Oh, stop it, Mimi! I'm sick of this--"

"Pro-life asshole."

"No! I'm just sick of you using them every time you're angry with me! Is that how it's going to go, Mimi? Is this what our lives are going to be?"

"Thanks to you, we don't know what our lives will be--"

"Thanks to me? I didn't make the abortion fail, Mimi! It's all chance and destiny if you believe in that, but it didn't work and you have to accept that!"

"Accept? Accept bringing two children into the world just to watch them die because their daddy can't realize that _bad things happen!_ And they do, Roger."

"Just decide if you want the abortion or not! Hell, Mimi, at this point, if you wanna have them out and go back to pole-dancing the next day, I wouldn't care just as long as you dedicated to it! But don't spend your life moaning about how you got screwed over, because that's a waste of your time and everyone else's. I should know!"

After he heard the door slam, Mark rolled out of bed. It was empty.

---

"I haven't gone out since Catherine. Not seriously since Maureen."

"Tell me about Catherine, you haven't mentioned her."

"Oh. About… six months ago, maybe, um, my… well, Maureen set me up with Catherine. She was nice enough, I mean I really liked her. I guess I talked a lot about myself, um, but she seemed interested. I liked this girl, a lot. And I couldn't believe… I mean, a woman with looks like that-- and she was!-- into a guy like me? Lucky. Too lucky."

"What went wrong?"

Mark sighed. His head jerked as he spoke, as though he might escape the truth of the words. "Catherine was an escort. Maureen paid her to take me out."

"What an awful thing to do."

"Well, you've never met Maureen. Maureen thought it was nice. She thought she was doing me a favor. I was so humiliated…"

"How did you feel about that? Were you angry, or upset?"

Mark didn't say a word. He pushed up his sleeve and indicated some of the darker scars. The scarring was inconsistent: in length, in depth; some cuts scarred darkly and some light. "I can't imagine what Roger would say," Mark said, his voice thick. He lost control and tears spilled across his cheeks. "First the lesbian, then the whore!"

"That was not your fault."

"Of course. Not my fault. I'm just so fucking pathetic I can't even land a woman, not one! You know that? After Nanette, nope. No one. Just Maureen and Catherine the whore. Markie-boy can't get himself a lay with paying for it. But it's never my fault! It's never my fucking fault! Maureen didn't know, I didn't know-- I am sick of having life happen to me!"

"Mark, put that down-- Mark! Mark, I can't let you do that!"

"I can do whatever I want! I'm not a child! I won't be treated like one. Life will not happen to me anymore! It will be my choices now, mine! And this is what I want!"

---

"I can't do this, Mimi."

She had dreaded those words since the beginning, every moment expected them: every second, since he found her in the clinic. It had only been a matter of time. She closed her eyes. Knowing could not have prepared her. "Okay," she said. A warm numbness began to flood her veins. Simplicity overcame her, and Mimi accepted. "I'll get my stuff out, and--"

"No." Roger stood and joined her by the table. "It's not that. It's just… all this fighting. It's not worth it. If that's all this is… I just want us to make a decision and stand by it, okay? Either… either we have the babies, or you do a D and E. And I'm by your side either way, I just… need you to choose."

Mimi nodded. _Commit to this moment. Decide. If you do it, you do it, there's no going back and no complaining. Which will it be? Which is it?_

Two scenarios flashed in Mimi's head: a baby. Life, twins, her and Roger. She wrinkled her brow. _No AZT,_ she thought. _Imagine such a life…Roger. _That part was easy. Roger took cares, and though he did not live his life by caution his body was healthier than hers-- such that she almost forgot his illness, at times. Mimi could see Roger with their twins-- girls, in her mind.

Yeah… but can I belong to that life? Roger, and the kids, and love and happiness? Mimi's mind scoffed. She had never been in such a place, only in moments in her childhood, however fleeting.

Or… door #2. Continuation. The eternity of unchanging this until--

Mimi's spine straightened. "I'm not having a D and E, Roger."

His shoulders slumped and he smiled. "Oh, thank G-d!" Roger hugged Mimi, one hand in her hair. "I would've stood by you, Mimi. I swear I would have."

---

Joanne shook her head, one hand shielding her eyes with the thumb and middle finger resting over opposite temples. When she removed her hand, nothing in her expression betrayed any emotion. She was present, collected, of sound mind. Joanne was unquestionably in control, despite having no control at all.

"Is he all right?" she asked.

"Yes. Physically, he's fine, but I would worry about his mental state."

Joanne nodded. "Well, obviously." The words were out before she could stop them. "Um… do you think this will happen again?"

The therapist paused. "I… Well, I'm not at liberty to discuss Mr. Cohen's case with you, but this particular instance was, I believe, brought on by the exploration of a very sensitive subject. As long he's not under attack, I'm sure Mr. Cohen--"

"Mark," Joanne interrupted. "His name is Mark." _This particular instance._ So there had been other instances, this was only one in a set, a series. _Did she mean to tell me that? Does she realize that she is speaking to a lawyer, someone who will pick up every hint she doesn't mean to drop?_

"Yes," the therapist agreed. "Mark."

Yes. Mark, Joanne's thoughts echoed. _Mark hurts himself._

Joanne's thoughts echoed. 

She listened as the doctors told her Mark would be wearing a splint for six to eight weeks, but the fracture was minor and no lasting damage foreseen. He would take painkillers-- yes, she could pay the prescription and the bills. No, he didn't have insurance. No, Mark couldn't stay overnight.

I can't afford that, Joanne reflected bitterly.

Joanne filled the prescription in the pharmacy before retrieving Mark. There were about a dozen beds, maybe half of them occupied. Mark was easy to spot. He sat on the hospital bed with his shoulders up by his ears and his spine curved. His hands rested on his thighs. A cast encased his left hand and wrist.

"Hey." Joanne touched Mark's bare shoulder. "You all right?" she asked.

Mark looked up. He forced a smile onto his face. "Yeah," he said. "I'm great."

"Let's get you home, okay?"

"Yeah."

Mark signed himself out, then headed to the subway with Joanne. "You don't have to walk me home," he said.

"I'd like the company," Joanne replied. "So what happened to your hand?"

"Oh." Mark hadn't considered that, but _I smashed a lamp against it because I hate myself so much that the very thought of me induces vomit_ probably wouldn't fly. "I fell."

Joanne nodded. _All right._ If that was what Mark wanted to say, she accepted that. But deep in her mind, Joanne burned the knowledge that Mark's broken hand was no accident and neither, she guessed, were the scars on his arm.

TO BE CONTINUED!


	14. Loophole

Disclaimer: It's not mine. I'm just playing!

Mark sat on the couch, looking at nothing in particular. It was far too early for his mind to be functioning. He had been in at half-past two from work the previous evening, and the prospect of being awake at ten o'clock was inhumane, but Mark had been unable to sleep and now he sat on the couch staring at nothing and trying to wake himself up.

"I can't eat toast," Mimi announced. She stood in the center of the room, her hair unbrushed, wearing sweats and resting her hands on her very prominent belly. "Roger. I can't eat toast."

Roger looked up from the three pieces of toast in front of him (two with honey, one with strawberry jam) and asked, "Why not?"

"Because, I can't," Mimi said.

Roger sighed. "What can you eat?" he asked. Obscure cravings had become fairly commonplace in the loft, and Roger had learned that just going along with it was the best solution.

Mimi smiled. "Peanut butter?" she asked. "Not the crunchy kind," she added, as Roger turned towards the refrigerator. "It can't be the crunchy kind."

"Mimi, love, all we have is the crunchy kind."

"I know." Mimi pouted.

Roger glared. Mimi pouted, widening her eyes just a hair. Roger broke. "Fine! But this is the only time today!" He picked up the toast with jam and slipped it onto a plate and kissed Mimi's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too!"

Roger shoved the plate into Mark's good hand. "Here." Once Mark held the plate, Roger slapped his hip gently. "Scoot, you're on my jacket." Mark did. Roger retrieved his jacket and dropped a quick kiss on Mark's cheek. "Take care of yourself, Mark."

"You won't be gone half an hour," Mark protested, but Roger was already dashing out the door.

Mimi waited until she saw him through the window, striding down the street and tossing his head as he muttered to himself, then she grabbed the abandoned toast and plopped down on the couch next to Mark. "Ooh…" Mimi moaned. Plopping down with two seven-and-a-half-month-old babies, _hurt!_

"Are you okay?" Mark asked.

Mimi laughed. "I should ask the same," she said. "Are you okay, Mark?"

Are you okay? But what terrified him was the touch on his arm. Mark's pale eyes flicked from Mimi's hand to her face, his heart racing. _She knows, she knows-- no. Mimi just touches, it's okay, she's just trying to help. She doesn't know._

But what terrified him was the touch on his arm. Mark's pale eyes flicked from Mimi's hand to her face, his heart racing. 

"I'm fine."

Mimi nodded. "That's good. 'Cause you know if you ever _weren't_, you know me and Roger are always here, whatever you need…"

"Yeah," Mark said, "I know." He drew away from her, taking a bite of toast as an excuse. The cooled toast was chewy and gave the jam a sour compliment, but it was better than nothing. Mark pulled a face. "It's gone off," he admitted, "but you know how Roger gets…"

Well if you don't like that, I'll make you something else! Just eat something_, Mark…_

something 

"He really cares about you," Mimi said.

Mark snorted. "After all the shit we've been through, it's not even like that," he told her. "It's like, we don't… I mean, _not_ thinking about Roger, it doesn't occur to me." _But Roger… has you. Roger doesn't need me. It's different._

"He was really upset about your arm."

"Mark? Oh my g-d. What happened? Are you okay?"

Mark barely stepped into the loft but Roger was at his side, hugging him and petting him. "It's nothing," he admitted, loath though he was to give Roger any reason to cease his attentions. "They gave me some painkillers."

"Well…" Roger ushered Mark to the couch and sat him down. "What happened?" he asked, offended by the world that would do such a thing to Mark.

Mark forced a smile. "It was nothing," he said. "I fell…"

"Wha… how? Where?"

As Mark floundered for a response, Joanne, to his surprise, intervened. "Roger," she said. "Mark's pretty hurt. Let's just let him rest up, okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Roger agreed, eager to do what was best for Mark. "Yeah, yeah. Do you want me to make you some tea so you can take your pills, or… um…maybe you should go lie down."

Mark laughed. "It's just a fracture," he said. "It's okay, Rog, just a fracture and I'm already on the pills," Mark added, hating himself. He wanted Roger to make him tea and take care of him, but there was nothing for Roger to do.

"Well…" Roger bit his lip, apparently realizing this and not liking it one bit. "If there's anything you need, just tell me, okay?"

"What about you?" Mark asked. "You're stuck carrying his children who you don't even want."

Mimi sighed. It was true, she _had_ tried to abort the twins, and yes, they had been unplanned, but… "You know, Mark, after seven months, I really can't imagine it any other way. So I'm unhappy when things go wrong or Roger acts like an idiot, I laugh when it's funny… the babies just are. I've accepted that."

---

Roger paid Joanne a visit a week later. As he approached her office building, sweating inside his leather jacket but still cold under the water March sunlight, numbers slipped through his mind. For instance… three to five, the number of weeks until Mark's cast came off and, four, weeks until Mimi's cesarean (probably). Three, the number of weeks Mark had worn his cast, and zero, the number of satisfactory explanations for it Roger had received.

Then there was 35-- the number of dollars Roger earn for a half-hour guitar lesson. 50, the smallest number of dollars they usually spent on food for a week. By his standards that was a fair amount and not nearly enough. Mimi was, well, pregnant, and Mark wasn't eating enough at all.

But then there was the cost of AZT…

With what Roger made giving lessons and what Mark made, mostly in tips, tending bar, their lives would have been more than comfortable-- money enough for food, heat, at least some spare blankets. Their lives would have been, hell, _cushy_, but…

It's your own damn fault, Davis.

Roger shook his head and turned into the building. He scowled heavily at the security personnel who found him altogether too interesting, and stalked over to a manned desk. "Hi," he said. "Um, I need to see Joanne Jefferson, she works here."

"Is she expecting you?" asked a man in a tie and collared shirt who seemed generally unconcerned.

Roger shook his head. "She's not, but I think she'll see me anyway. My name is Roger Davis-- here." He showed his license to the man, who nodded and called Joanne on the telephone.

After a brief introduction and a conversation consisting entirely of "uh-huh" and "I see", the man hung up the phone and motioned Roger through. "Floor thirty-six," he said.

"Thirty-six?"

"Yessir."

"Woah."

As he stood in the elevator, twitching, Roger sighed. He knew he would never forget that _Joanne works on floor 36._ Another number, and Roger hated numbers. People liked to manipulate him, like Collins when Roger first moved in and damned if Collins didn't find Roger's SAT scores out some damned way, and want to know why he wasn't pursuing his education.

Fucking Collins…

Or it was the number of dollars Roger had in his box under the bed-- a big number, in his opinion, but it wasn't big enough. It wouldn't pay the bills when Mimi was in the hospital, and that was why he was here.

"I guess this sucks for you," Roger said, sitting opposite Joanne. She did have a nice view, though… "Everyone relies on you. Everyone asks _you_ for help. But at least you know what's going on."

Joanne nodded. "Right," she said, trying not to snap at him.

"I'm just saying." _You aren't the one who has to stand outside of Mark's bedroom and listen to him breathe, just so you know he's okay. You aren't the one watching Mimi for the tiniest sign of what she's holding back. You aren't the one whose best friend…_ Roger forced himself to stop. Mark and Mimi he could do something for, be there for, take care of, but…

And Roger missed him, he really did. That was the worst.

"What do you need?" Joanne asked. "Did Collins send you?"

"What?" Had she fucking read his thoughts?

"We got together about a week ago, he started talking about how… it was my turn, or something. How when you were in withdrawal everyone relied on him, the next year it was Mark, and now it's me."

Roger had never considered that, but he had to admit, it was true. He remembered withdrawal, a little, what he couldn't block out. He remembered that it was always Collins he turned to, that when he could walk it was Collins he sought out and when he couldn't, then it was crying and begging and _Please, please don't leave me, please!_

He made them promise. Over and over, he made them promise.

And then Mimi came, and Roger knew that whenever he fought with her he turned to Mark. _What can I do, Mark?_ Advice or a hug or a punching bag, whatever Roger needed, and Mark always assured him that it was all right.

Now here he was, in Joanne's office.

"No," Roger said. "No, Collins didn't send me, actually, I need… I need legal advice. Kind of."

Joanne raised her eyebrows.

"Financial advice," Roger admitted. "Billpaying, okay? I thought… I mean, I don't have enough money, I know I don't, not for the hospital bills and… jeez, it's been hard enough getting all that baby stuff. I swear, whoever owns the Goodwill, I'm putting their kids through college."

Joanne bit back a laugh. "I'm fairly certain the Goodwill is a non-profit," she said. _And college costs more than a couple of old bottles._ "Anyway, what do you have?"

Roger gave the number. "I thought, maybe I could temp for you, like as a secretary or something?"

"I have a secretary," Joanne said, "but don't worry--"

"I can work however--"

"You have no assets, right?"

"What?"

"You rent the loft, you don't have a car, do you? Didn't think so. Do you have a bank account?" she asked, and again Roger shook his head. "Legal loophole. You got nothing. You appear broke."

"You're smiling."

"Yup. You're broke! The government pays your way, Rog."

Roger practically jumped over the desk to hug Joanne.

TO BE CONTINUED!

That loophole does exist.


	15. The Hospital Again

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's.

"April twelfth, 1992. This is the first filming I've done in weeks, but now that the cast is off…" Mark paused and sighed. _Now that the cast is off, my scars stand out in harsh contrast._ "…now that the cast is off, here's Roger Davis-- smile!" Roger, for once, obeyed, perhaps because he was smiling anyway. "Roger is holding his firstborn child, his son. What's his name, Roger?"

"Uh… we're not sure," Roger admitted.

"Pan right to Mimi, still in the hospital bed--"

Mimi laughed. "Get that thing outta here, I look disgusting!"

The camera continued to film, but Mark lowered it. "No," he said, "you don't. You look beautiful."

Mimi scoffed. "Film her," she said, bouncing the baby in her arms. "She's beautiful."

"Babies are perfect because they have no influence," Roger said, musing absently. Mark trained the camera on him; Roger was too busy staring at his son to notice. "They don't choose. They can't feed themselves, bathe themselves, can't even decide when to crap, it all just happens or is done, so this… this is a blameless creature."

Mark smiled. He loved this rare, thoughtful side of Roger, the poet so few were allowed to glimpse, and as he watched with both his organic and metallic eyes, Mark knew that Roger was happy. He was happy in this life, with his girlfriend and their babies. _And I'm just going to have to accept that._

Mark sighed. "That's very nice, Rog," he said. _Very sickly romantic, but you live in that perfect world._ Mark briefly wondered how he could. How could Roger, HIV-positive and likely about to embark on a year-long test of endurance, watching his children wither and die, be so positive and happy?

Roger raised his eyes to grin at Mark. Not one bit of the pure love filling his eyes drained as he smiled at his friend, but it was too late. Mark was gone, this time imagining himself in a desert on the brink of a rainstorm.

It's hot, even before a storm, and damn dry. You lick your lips, but that only makes your tongue hurt.

"What shall we call her?" Mimi asked. Roger shook his head. "Mark?" Mimi asked. "What would you call her?"

To him, the name seemed quite obvious. "April." But Roger and Mimi both shook their heads, and Mark felt a hot blush pattern his cheeks. "Just an idea," he murmured.

Deserts don't look barren until you look closer. They look verdant, green shrubbery flourishing beside the twisted, gnarled bristlecone pines.

"We don't want to name them after dead friends… or… y'know," Roger explained. "They have their own lives ahead of them, and no one else's behind them."

Mark nodded. That made sense, and of course Roger could not know that in the Jewish culture it was no insult to give a child the name of a dead relative. Of a living relative, now there was insult. "You could call the boy Benjamin," he said, without thinking. "After Collins!" he added quickly, when the parents stared. "Thomas B. Collins?"

"It's not Benjamin," Roger said. "It's Bernard."

"No, it's Benjamin."

Roger shook his head. "Bernard, I'm tellin' you."

"Seriously?" Mimi asked. Roger nodded. She rolled her eyes. "Another naming rule, no saddling the poor things with names like Bernard or Edmund. And no themes," she added. "I'm not raising an Adam and Eve. That's just cruel. Or Antony and Cleopatra or anyone else who fucked."

"Hansel and Gretl!" Roger suggested. He held the boy up to eye level. "You like that, Hansel?"

Mimi chided, "Don't even tease him with that! It's child abuse!"

"He could be little Vaclav."

"Roger, that's awful!"

"You know he rides a motor scooter?" Roger asked. "There's this big palace… thing… y'know, where the Catholics got defenestrated. Vaclav Havel rides around on a motor scooter--"

Mimi turned to Mark and decreed with a firm nod, "He's jealous." To the baby, she said, "Your daddy's jealous of Mr. Havel. He wants a motor scooter, too. But we really can't afford that--"

"I can do the other part for you," Mark piped. "I can defenestrate you."

Roger laughed. "Can_not_, you're weak as a kitten. You're weaker than this little guy, and he--" Roger stopped talking as the baby began a screaming sobfest. Mark winced. "Hey, shh, it's okay." But the baby, only three days old at all, knew not a word of English, and continued crying.

Roger, not knowing what else to do, began to sing.

When he had finished and the baby was quiet, sleeping and drooling, Mimi laughed. "'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'?" Mimi asked. "What ever happened to 'Rock-a-by Baby'?"

In disbelief, Roger asked, "Have you ever actually _heard_ 'Rock-a-by Baby'? The baby falls out of a tree!" He clutched his son protectively, but eased up when the boy began to stir. "Sorry."

---

"Cleo."

"Ew."

"Amanda."

"I'm not giving her a name of the period, that's worse than branding. Something timeless."

"Kaitlin."

"What did I just say?"

"Sarah?"

"Everyone and their mother is named Sarah."

"Sasha?"

There was a long pause, then Mimi nodded.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes!"

Mark, who had fallen asleep in a chair, startled at Roger's yelp. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Mark." Mimi gestured for him to come. "Come hold her, she has a name."

"Okay." Mark pushed himself off the chair and plastered a smile on his face. _Come hold the reason you can't have him. Come hold the proof that he's a straight-laced heterosexual. Come hold an undeniable statement of your loneliness. Stop it! Stop being such a weakling!_

Mark flinched. What was his father's voice doing in his head? Then he realized that it wasn't his father's voice. It was his.

Clenching his jaw, Mark took the baby from Mimi. "So, what are you calling her?" he asked.

"Sasha. Sasha Xochitl Davis-Marquez."

"Xochitl?" Mark repeated, thinking that this one looked more Davis than Marquez. "Is that a real name?"

Mimi smacked Roger's shoulder. He flinched and mouthed the word 'ow.' "That's what he said! Ay, chicos… Yes, it's a real name. It's an Aztec name and it's beautiful."

"Okay," Mark said. "Aztec… and… Russian?" he looked questioningly at Roger, who nodded.

"Russian, Sicilian, and German," Roger rattled off.

"The German shows."

"If I was holding anything but a baby, I'd throw it at you."

"Oh, that's nice! Give me my son right now. You don't get to hold him anymore," Mimi joked, sticking out her tongue at Roger.

TO BE CONTINUED!

To clarify about last chapter, no, Roger did not get a 36 on his SAT. That's impossible, since SAT scores are multiples of ten. 36 was just another number (Joanne's floor).

Please review?


	16. Moving Out

Disclaimer: We all know who RENT belongs to... not me. Jonathan Larson. I'm just playing with his characters.

He counted the Aspirin. He counted the Tylenol (extra strength, the only thing Roger's migraines would listen to). There were a few Prednisone tablets which they really should not have had, he counted those. He even counted the Midol from the dusty bottle.

One-hundred twenty-seven.

Two days ago it had been one-hundred twenty-nine, but he remembered now seeing Roger swallow a couple of Tylenol with a glass of water. One-hundred twenty-seven, it felt so small, but Mark knew it was enough for when he needed it.

"Mark?"

And the knowledge eased a pain in his chest. He pushed the bottles into the cabinet and stood so quickly his head spun. "Yeah, Rog?"

"Just making sure you were okay," Roger said. He stood in the doorway, watching his friend awkwardly, unable to find the proper words.

Mark helped him. "Did they say when the babies could come home?" To Mark, it was a dreaded date, since afterwards it would be filled with high screams in the night, with bottles and diapers, until either the babies died-- and Mark knew a part of Roger would die with them, and likely all of Mimi. And who would pick up the pieces again?

_Mark._ Mark stood to face the old Roger, the abusive, sulking, self-centered bastard who needed him. Without that, he might have flinched to consider the deaths of two infants. Without that, he never would have caught himself secretly hoping. It was a wretched thing to hope. It was disgusting.

But it was human and it was true, and for that it was beautiful.

Of course, the alternative, healthy babies, Mark preferred not to consider. That was a forever thing-- at least until he died, or Roger and Mimi did. Then the babies would have to go to Maureen and Joanne, or into foster care. Or perhaps they had family? Roger had a mother somewhere, Mark knew.

"Probably in about a month," Roger said. "They're… they're, you know, keeping them for a little while…"

Mark nodded. "What did you call the boy, again?" he asked. He had been told before, but not remembered.

"Gabriel Alejandro." The Spanish name twisted Roger's tongue, making his skin seem a shade paler. The "a" in Gabriel arched up instead of ducking low.

Names.

He had thought of everything about Roger, tried to commit it all to memory and film, watched him write and play and sulk… What about speech? Mark had never considered the inflections Roger placed on names. He had never before noticed them.

Not many ways to mispronounce "Mark".

No, it was just "Mark"-- same as "Roger", actually, though Roger had given an affectionate lilt to "Maureen". _Did he choose their names for that? To give them something special, a pronunciation they'll never hear when he's gone, something to remember, even vaguely, about their daddy? _

What do I have?

Mark knew. _Nothing. Film, falsity. Nothingness. _

Why can't he do anything like everyone else? Why must he be so **fucking special**? Or… why can't he be with someone who appreciates him?

Mark sighed and shook his head. "Good name," he said.

Roger frowned. He reached towards Mark, then faltered. "Um…" Mark felt his heart take a little dive. _I don't bite…_ "Mark, listen, I--"

"You want me to move out," Mark interrupted. He took a deep breath. He had known it was coming, had waited ages to hear it. Of course, now that Roger had his children, his proper family, why should he want Mark around? He sighed. He had known it was coming, and it didn't hurt nearly as much as he had expected.

Roger was staring. _Well, of course I knew,_ Mark thought tiredly. "Okay," he said. "Give me a couple of days to find a place--"

"Mark--"

"I'm sure Maureen and Joanne can put me up if you want me out sooner--"

"Mark--"

"Or Collins." Actually, that might be better, Mark realized. Living with his lesbian ex-girlfriend and her (female) lover, even just for a few days, would be considerably worse than awkward. "Hell, he has fucking university housing, he--"

"Shut up!" Roger grabbed Mark and pulled him into a hug so quickly Mark's eyes barely had the chance to widen in surprise. Roger had latched onto him, one arm firmly across Mark's back, fingers digging into his sweater, his other hand cradling the back of Mark's head.

"Shut up," Roger repeated. "Shut up, just shut the fuck up," he hissed, struggling to speak and clench his jaw at once. His hand left Mark's head to swipe at his eyes.

"Rog…" Mark said. _Are you crying?_ "It's okay. Roger, it's okay." He could barely manage the words. Since when did Roger need him? And it was just that, need, in the clinging embrace just a bit too tight.

Roger pulled away. "What the hell is okay?" he demanded. "You… you can't… bloody hell, Mark! Asking you to move out, how… would I…" He shook his head, unable to decide which incredulous question to throw out. "Don't ever say shit like that to me again!"

"Okay." Mark didn't know what else to do but agree, try to placate Roger until he had caught hold of his temper once more.

"Ever!"

"Okay, Roger. Okay."

"'Cause it's not funny, Mark."

"Yeah. Where would I go, anyway?" Mark asked. He scoffed. "Living with Maureen. Been there, no thanks!" They laughed. It occurred to Mark that they were still standing in the middle of the bathroom, that neither of them had moved and Roger still had the look of a terrified rabbit somewhere in his eye.

"You okay?" Roger asked. Mark flinched when Roger rubbed his cheek with one thickly callused thumb. "You don't look like you're sleeping."

"I'm fine."

"Okay. Well, you can let me know if there's something--"

Mark smirked. "Practicing for teenagers?" he asked.

Roger blushed. "I should check on Mimi." And he hurried away.

When Mark peeked into the bedroom, he saw a woman not as healthfully glowing as someone out of a Lifetime film. In fact, Mimi looked altogether too thin. Her hair bounced and fizzed as it always had, and there was as much happiness in her smile as there ever had been. But her fingers lingered a bit too long over her belly, thin again, and when her eyes looked into Roger's she didn't really seem to be looking at him at all.

Mark had expected some quietude: readjustment to life together, the parents wondering about their children and concerned for their own well-being. He had expected hushed conversations as they tried, fruitlessly, to staple heavy meaning to small words and found always that the words were not enough.

Mark had expected low conversations, each word weighted. He had not expected the springs to squeak on Mimi's first night home.

"Roger… Roger… Roger…"

Mark rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. The high squeaking of the springs and Mimi's moans ripped through fabric for the sole purpose of torturing him.

"R-Roger! There, that's-- that's it--!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Mark struggled out of bed. In the bathroom he twisted the knob for cold water, letting it spit and sputter, drowning the sound of Mimi's orgasm. Briefly he wondered if Roger was having one, too, then pulled out his razor.

Mark didn't like razor. He didn't like how they seemed to catch and tear his flesh rather than cutting it properly. He didn't like the torture they forced him to endure before bringing the release from the pain.

He didn't like it, but he liked how it made him feel, if only for a little while.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Xochitl: "So-chee"

Reviews would be very awesome! Please review?


	17. 26 April 1992

This chapter is quite short-- I'm sorry for that. However, because it's got some pivotal events to the story I wanted it to stand alone. I hope you enjoy!

Shout-out to 'burn to emerge', too... she called it first!

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson

"Mark, listen…"

Two weeks later, life had found its rhythm. Mimi and Roger were at it like rabbits, and Mark… Mark…

"Yeah, Roger?"

Mark forced a smile, trying to hide his annoyance. _Now he wants something. Now I exist._ Which, he knew, was uncharitable and unfair. He had heard Mimi crying yesterday, and two days before that. He had heard her wail that this was her fault, that she should have had the D and E and now they had to watch their babies die…

They sat on the couch; Mark had been there for some time, doodling idly in an old notebook. Roger had joined him, flopping onto the cushion.

"Mark, Mimi and I were just talking."

She had had a good day today: no tears, no anger. Once, about a week ago before the crying started, seemingly out of the blue, Mimi had slapped Roger across the face. That was the first day she cried.

Roger had followed her into the bedroom, where Mark heard her sobbing that she was sorry. He was fairly certain she had given him a blowjob.

Some apology.

"We were thinking about, um…"

"Fucking." He didn't think he could stand to hear it called "making love" once more. It was sex, not love, fun.

Roger blushed. "Yeah," he said, grinning slightly with the maturity of a twelve-year-old.

"You know, I kind of figured that." The edge to his tone was unintentional.

Roger laughed. He turned to Mark, still smiling, and asked as though it was completely obvious, "Well would you like to join us?"

TO BE CONTINUED!

Review? Please?


	18. 27 April 1992

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. This is just fun; there's no profit (other than the fun).

The door slammed, and Mark stirred. "Hm…?"

He was in bed. In bed with someone, and who… Mark rolled over. "Roger?" No. It couldn't be Roger that wasn't possibly, and whoever it was would now be hideously angry with him for having just called her Roger…

It had amazed Mark, numbed him with pleasure the effect his body had on Roger. Mark had imagined Roger as a lover, fantasized about him, but he had never been accurate. He had never imagined the reverence and gentleness, enamor and lust mingling in kisses trailed over Mark's body…

And Mimi. Roger was healthier, bigger; Mark had expected dominance from Roger and more submission from his small, slightly frail girlfriend. Mark had been quite wrong. Every touch from Roger seemed an indulgence. Mimi was all sex and seduction.

It seemed the first time in months he had fallen asleep easily.

At nine o'clock the following morning, Roger was awake, propped up on one elbow. He shifted, bringing the blankets slightly higher across his body, then with his free hand brushed Mark's face lightly, as he would brush away fringe if Mark had any.

Mimi grinned at Roger. "Se quiere, no?"

Roger nodded, not taking his eyes off Mark. "I've wanted this," he said quietly. "I've wanted this for so long…" He trailed his fingers across Mark's cheek, down his neck. "I've wanted to love him, to make him feel it. I wanted him breathing beside me at night."

Mimi flinched. "Love?" she asked, watching carefully for his reaction.

"Wha--" Roger looked up at her face. "Oh. No, not… just… Doesn't it feel right, Mimi? You, me… Mark… us? We've lived together so long, it just… it just needed to happen. Mimi," he said, seriously, since she was clearly unconvinced, "I love you." He looked down at Mark. "I just worry that he's not happy, that he keeps too much inside."

"I'd be more concerned with what he lets out."

"What?"

Mimi ran her fingertips across Mark's forearm. "_Look_, Roger. Look at these, love."

Roger did, and felt a sudden need to be sick and a sudden pain closing his lungs. "How long?" he whispered, forcing his throat to move.

"I don't know."

"How long have you known?"

Mimi shrugged. "I saw them tonight," she said, tracing spirals over his scars. "So… what are we going to do?" She looked up again at Roger.

He shook his head. "I dunno."

Mark mumbled and rolled over. Mimi looked at Roger. "You want to do it now?"

He considered. Was he, now, when he had just gotten what he so badly wanted, willing to risk that? Did he want to talk about this, these, when he could ignore it all, when… fuck… he didn't want to. Roger didn't want to discuss this at all. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to _know_ about this, but he did, and that was what mattered.

"Maybe it would be easier, just you two?"

Yes. Mark had known Roger for years, they could talk, Mark would be open with him. Mimi… Roger loved Mimi, and he wanted to believe that Mimi loved Mark, but he didn't.

Roger nodded. "That might be easier."

Mimi slipped out of bed. She pulled on her jeans. "I'll try to give you about an hour, okay?"

"Thanks, Mimi."

When she had gone, Roger wriggled deeper under the blankets and curled closer to Mark. Okay, he was ready for this. He was ready to talk about this, ready to accept, find out what was going on and help Mark in any way necessary.

After he was properly awake. For now there was only Mark, warm and solid and breathing evenly. Roger rested an arm across Mark's pouchy tummy-- thin as Mark was, he had never been vain enough to actually be fit.

The door slammed, and Mark stirred. "Hm…?"

He was in bed. In bed _with someone_, and who… Mark rolled over. "Roger?" No. It couldn't be Roger that wasn't possibly, and whoever it was would now be hideously angry with him for having just called her Roger.

Mark reached for his glasses.

"Here."

He slid them on, took a deep breath, and faced his partner. "Roger?"

Roger grinned. "Morning."

"Last night… we… you… and me…"

Roger nodded. "You and me and Mimi, yes." Despite the scars, it was still a morning after. Roger reached out and petted Mark's hair. "Did you like it?" he asked. Mark nodded. "Good." Roger kissed him, and Mark practically lost consciousness.

Shit. AIDS! Fuck!

"You… we used protection, right?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. We wore condoms, of course. We wouldn't expose you, Mark." The 'we' of the first sentence was clearly not the 'we' of the second, and though Mark told himself Roger only meant the subject to indicate the two infected individuals, he flinched to be excluded. "Mark? There's, um… there's something I want to talk to you about."

Mark froze. _And you just let yourself be lured in, you little idiot! You let yourself think it was love. Moron! You're just a bit of fun. You're just a piece of ass, and you're too stupid and naïve to realize._ "Last night… was a one-time thing," Mark forced himself to say. It was easier than hearing Roger say it.

Roger shook his head. "Only if you didn't enjoy it. And we can do more than just that, or… differently. Actually when I asked you to join us, me and Mimi had been thinking it was more like a forever thing." Roger smiled, so Mark smiled back. "I wanted to talk to you about these," Roger said, trailing his fingers along Mark's arms.

"They're just old cat scratches," Mark said.

"No, they aren't."

Mark turned away. He sighed. There wasn't much to say. His head was too heavy for his neck, his arms sagged from his shoulders. "What do you want, Roger?" he asked quietly.

"I want…" _you. At least I did, but now that I have you…_ Roger curled his hand around Mark's. "I want to know why you would do that."

Mark curled his toes, and he made a choice. He would not get emotional. He would not be defensive. This was none of Roger's business, and Roger would have to accept that, because he'd done the same.

"Same way you shot smack into your arms."

Roger's throat tightened. "You made me stop."

"You want me to stop?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll stop." A part of Mark wanted to give Roger more credit. A part of him wanted to say, _To stop, I have to be happy. To stop, I have to be loved. To stop, I have to have a reason. To stop, I have to care. Not all at once, but one or another at any time._ "Hey!" Mark protested, because Roger had yanked the blankets away. "What are you doing?"

Mark reached for the blankets, but Roger pushed them onto the floor. "I'm learning every scar on your body."

"Roger--"

"You're being uncooperative, Mark, so I'm using force."

Mark pushed Roger away. _Don't be cute._ He found his corduroys on the floor and pulled them up. "It's my life, Roger, I don't want you interfering."

"_Interfering_?" Roger repeated. "So I'm not supposed to care, Mark, just let you slice and dice?"

"Yes," Mark snapped, surprised at his own viciousness. He grabbed a shirt and slipped it on.

"I won't let you fuck yourself up like that."

Mark scoffed. "I won't take advice from an HIV-positive junkie."

He regretted the words the moment he had said them, but he didn't dare retract them. Mark didn't dare cede to his desire to apologize, because_, You idiot! Are you really that fucking afraid of happiness, you'll just say anything to push him away, won't you? Don't you care about Roger's feelings, you little shit? No. You just love his cock. You just want to love him, you want him to love you, but you don't deserve that… now, do you?_

Mark slammed the door behind him as he left the loft.

When Mimi returned, she found Roger sitting on the bed. He had picked up the clothes strewn around the room, folded them, and set them aside, then he had made the bed. After that, he slumped down on the blankets, tried to cry and couldn't.

"Roger…"

"He's gone, Meems. I fucked it up, and now he's gone."

"He'll come back."

"How do you know that?"

Mimi shrugged. "Because he loves you."

TO BE CONTINUED!

So... I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I'm not really satisfied with it, but I'm pleased enough to just have it finished at this point.


	19. Mark and Mimi

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, this is just for fun.

This chapter is sort of a cliffhanger, again, but I'll try to have the next part up this weekend.

* * *

It had been easy enough for Mark to leave the loft in an angry huff, furious that Roger would interfere with his life, his business, his _personal business_ like that.

Returning was somewhat more difficult. Returning, Mark had calmed down. He no longer could complain about Roger interfering. Roger only cared. Roger had said "forever", which meant more than just the sex.

Right?

And even if not, it meant that Mark was damn good in bed. He smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs to the loft. If he was good enough for Roger, who had probably screwed or been blown by half the city's population in his rock star days, he was _good._

Mark stepped into the loft and closed the door behind him. He shrugged off his coat and set down the camera he hadn't used.

"Mark."

Mimi was leaning against the table, holding a warm mug between her hands. Her hair was down, and she was wearing Roger's old sweats, which led Mark to wonder what Roger was wearing.

Then he noticed Mimi's nipples standing up against her shirt and between that image and the previous thought, Mark was having trouble concentrating on anything but the bloodflow to his groin.

"What the hell, Mark?" Mimi asked.

He shook his head, trying to restore circulation to his brain. "Huh?"

She straightened. "Roger told me what happened this morning."

"Oh."

Mimi raised her eyebrows. "Oh? That's all you have to say, is oh?" She set down the mug. "Mark, it goes both ways, okay? You can't treat Roger like that."

"Like what?"

"Like dirt! Like someone you fuck! Do you have any idea how important you are to him? He didn't even want to ask you into bed because he was afraid you'd reject him, when anyone can see you've mooned over him for years."

"But I didn't!"

Mimi scoffed. "Oh, you didn't?" she asked. "And what exactly did you mean by telling him he was nothing more than an HIV-positive junkie?"

"I didn't…" Mark trailed off, realizing that he had. "What…" His face adopted a pinched look, a cross between anger and rat. "Well how about you?" he demanded. "How about you turning your body into an incubator because Roger wanted babies?"

"I wanted them, too!"

"No you didn't! You wanted to make him happy! You wanted Roger to be happy, and happy with you-- if you had wanted them, you wouldn't've had an abortion, but fuck the women's movement as long as your boyfriend's pleased with you, right, Mimi?" Mark demanded. The harshness of his tone was no surprise, not to him. Mark knew how he sounded when he was pushed to his limits.

"Oh, and you're really great, Mark, aren't you?" Mimi snarled back. "I carried children. How about you? How about cutting yourself every time life gets too tough? Why don't you just kill yourself already and we'd all be so much happier!"

Tears streaked across Mark's cheeks. He knew, in the suppressed logic of his mind, that he should stop, but there was so much anger bubbling up in his stomach that he didn't even try to force himself.

"Well G-d knows you're enough to induce that! I feel sorry for your babies if you _don't_ kick the bucket soon!"

Mimi recoiled as though struck. She blinked rapidly, between blinks staring at Mark. She didn't deserve that. Maybe Mimi had destroyed her own life, but she wasn't a bad mother.

She hadn't had the chance to be!

"Prick."

"Whore."

They gave the insults without feeling, speaking as they felt they should rather than as they actually felt, both too distraught to care.

"Mark?" Mark turned. "Mimi?" Roger was standing by the bedroom, clutching the door with one hand. They stared.

"R-Roger… you woke up."

He nodded. "Um… I… sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry." Then he disappeared back into his room and shut the door behind him.

TO BE CONTINUED!


	20. For Everything I've Said

Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with the characters.

"Roger. Roger, baby, open the door," Mimi purred in her sweetest voice.

Mark scoffed. He had seen this time and again; he had knocked on Roger's door, baited him with chocolate, coffee, even half-kisses melted in fresh coffee. He had promised to listen and understand and be there… but nothing worked. Roger would come out when he was good and ready.

"Roger…"

He hadn't heard that tone since… had it really been two years ago, when Roger learned of Mimi's past relationship with Benny?

"Roger," Mimi appealed. Her face was fresh, but her voice was on the verge of breaking. It was her final appeal. "Great." Mimi flopped down on the couch. She shook her head. "Just great!" she said, the pitch of her voice rising. "So what now?"

Mark sat beside her. "He'll come around." _For both of us._

"Come around?" Mimi repeated. "I can't just sit and wait… I'm not his wife," she observed. "I had his babies but I'm not his wife. He can't think I'll just sit around and wait for him."

Mark shrugged. "Won't you?" he asked, but not unkindly. They both knew the answer.

Mimi slumped back against the cushions. "Yeah," she admitted. Her tummy puckered out, and Mark clenched his jaw, wishing away the allure of her belly. Hating Mimi would be so much easier if her body did not drive him wild, second only to Roger's. "I'm sorry," she said frankly, almost defiant, cutting into his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"I _am_ sorry. Mark, please don't kill yourself."

His temperature rose. "It's not about that," Mark mumbled quickly.

"What is it?" Mimi asked.

"It's like… sometimes it's like there's so much on the inside, if I could just focus it all on this one point…"

She blinked. "It would kill Roger," she said. "It would hurt him forever, he'd never recover, Mark, if you killed yourself."

"I told you," Mark replied, gritting his teeth, "it's not about--"

"He thinks it is!" Mimi interrupted. She placed her palms on Mark's cheeks then paused, recognizing what she had done, and plowed on anyway. "That's what it looks like to us, Mark, like you don't care about yourself!"

Mark shook her off. "I don't see," he said, "how you can say that, and still act like you do. Mimi, you do anything Roger wants." They were the same concepts he had tried to express, but spoken softly. Mark pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I know you love him, but bringing two people into the world--"

"Mark," Mimi said, her tone suddenly iron, "Roger and I discussed that. It was none of your business."

"Then what about me?" Mark asked. "Doesn't it degrade you to have your boyfriend's best friend in bed with you, to watch Roger suck me off instead of eating you out?"

Mimi paused, hearing the echoes of her own moans as Roger stroked her stomach, her wriggling as he wrapped his lips around the tit on her swollen breast. "It's not so much about that," she told Mark. "And anyway, I suggested you."

"What?"

"I've seen him look at you, Mark. _I've_ looked at you. We both wanted you, and you wanted him, that much was obvious. But I was the one who suggested the three of us together, and I didn't do it for him."

Mark asked the obvious question: "Why?"

"Because…" Mimi shrugged. "I wanted you, and it was the only way I could have you, by sharing you with him."

"Because you didn't want to lose Roger," Mark concluded for her.

Mimi shook her head. "No!" she exclaimed quietly. "No, not at all, Mark." She chuckled. "It's because I know how you feel about women."

"How I…" Mark began to repeat Mimi's words, then realized what she meant. His jaw dropped. "Oh… oh! No!" Mark laughed. "No, I don't mind women at all!" he cried. "Mimi, I've thought you were hot since Roger started dating you.

"You serious?"

"Yes! Seeing you two kiss, woah. No, I'm not gay, at least not exclusively!"

"Well huzzah to that."

"Yeah!"

"Mark?"

"Mm?"

"Listen…" Mimi shook her head slightly and could not meet his eyes. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I don't want you to die. Like, ever," she added, and laughed.

Mark smiled. "Me, too," he said. "I mean, I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll be a great mom to those kids."

"No, you were right about that. I still wonder if Roger and I had any right, bringing them into the world, but…" She shook her head. "They're here now, you know? And I remember, six months into the pregnancy, thinking how I'd agreed with Roger, no more talk about abortions, we were going to have these babies, and he was so happy… and I still knew, twenty-four weeks into it, that if I asked him he would come up with twenty-two hundred dollars for the abortion, and he'd hold my hand throughout, too."

Mark hissed sharply. "Twenty-two hundred?" he asked. "Is that what you owe Collins now?" _Fuck!_ Yet another of Mark's ridiculous outbursts, probably second to announcing at Christmas that he would suck Roger's cock. Of course now that he'd had it the other way around, he felt better about that.

Apparently Mimi didn't think so. She shook her head. "I repaid him," she said. "And it was five hundred. First term is a lot cheaper. Still, you can't imagine what it's like to ask someone for that kind of money, even--especially someone you know will lend it." She explained, "Collins wasn't going to say no. He wasn't going to tell me to keep the babies, or that I was killing them, and I knew that. Made it harder."

Mark nodded. He understood that. "You know," he said, "Roger's always wanted babies. I'm just saying."

"Have you?" Mimi asked. The implication didn't take a second to sink in, and she amended, "I don't mean mine. We've talked about what's going to happen to them if the outlive us, Roger and I, and we wouldn't ask you to do that. I just mean… ever. Like when you're a bigshot director out in Hollywood with your perfect wife and 401k, would you ever consider having children?"

Mark didn't know, and said as much.

"You can have as much to do with Sasha and Gabriel as you want," she said. "If as much as you want is nothing at all, then that's it."

Mark nodded. He looked at his knees. The truth was, he had barely given any thought to the babies since… had it only been yesterday, that Roger invited him into bed? It seemed longer. Yet, in that time, Mark had not thought of the twins because to him they had only ever been an obstacle.

"Mark?"

"Hm?"

Mimi grinned with her tongue between her teeth. "I think you're sexy," she said.

"I… think you're sexy, too," Mark said. The word felt and sounded awkward, but he meant well.

"C'mon," Mimi said, jerking her head. "Let's go see if Roger's up for round two."

They found him asleep, curled up on his side, so they shut off the light and climbed into bed. Roger didn't ask questions the following morning.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Review? Please?


	21. Omniscience

Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson.

"Hey!" The loft door slid open and Tom Collins stepped inside. "How can anyone justify this much rain in May?" he asked.

Roger grinned. "Give me thirty seconds," he said to a small sixteen-year-old fumbling with her guitar. "Keep playing!" he added over his shoulder, then, "Hello, Thomas." They embraced.

"So you're all keyed up for today?" Collins asked.

Roger nodded. "Yeah," he said, breathless. "You want me to get Mark for you?" He glanced at his watch, then told his student, "Okay, that's thirty minutes. Sorry to interrupt you like that. Think you got the scale?" he asked. She nodded. "Good, so next week you'll know this for me, right?"

"By heart?"

"No, by next week."

The student grinned, stuffed her papers into her backpack and headed out the door. "Bye, Mr. Davis!"

Collins snorted. "Mr. Davis?" he repeated when the student had gone.

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Your point, Mr. Collins? Ah-ha! Mr. Cohen!" he exclaimed as Mark emerged from the bedroom, buttoning a blue-grey sweater that was just a bit too big for him and intended for someone nearly three times his age.

"Hey," he said, half to Roger and half to Collins. "I'll be ready in just a minute—"

"Here." Roger gently pushed Mark's hands away from the buttons and slipped them into place, then tugged the seams to rest over Mark's shoulders. He kissed him, and under plastic-framed lenses, Mark's eyes half-hooded. "Take care of yourself."

Mark grinned. "What's going to happen to me?" he asked. "I'll be with Collins."

"That _is_ what's going to happen to you," Roger retorted, looking directly at Collins as he spoke. "You'll come home an anarchist, convinced the toothpaste people are out to get you or boycotting underwear."

Collins laughed. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "The toothpaste people are all out to get us. Honestly, what do you see in this guy? Roger, you got a candy flavored cock or something?"

With a wicked grin, Roger swung his hips and retorted, "Mint chocolate, you want a taste?"

"Ha, ha. Come on, Mark, let's go."

"'Bye." Mark stood on tiptoe to kiss Roger, though he did not completely need to, then grabbed the umbrella with the bent spokes and hurried out after Collins.

As they sat opposite one another at a table at the Life Café, Mark said, "You know, there are other restaurants in New York. Even places we can afford."

"Yes, but are their French fries _this good_?" Collins asked. He shrugged. "Why change what's already working for you?" Mark nodded and made a noncommittal noise. "Of course, if something _isn't_ working for…"

After a moment's silence, Mark raised his eyes. _Oh._ Collins was watching him, waiting for a response. "It's working fine," he said.

"Okay. I'm just asking."

"Fine," Mark repeated.

"Because you could talk to me if it wasn't. And I could talk to Roger for you—"

Mark stiffened. "Collins, if I have a problem with Roger I can talk to him myself."

"Okay." Collins held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm just saying, no one manipulates Roger like I do."

Mark refused to play. He drank the foam off his beer. Collins tore the bottom half-inch of wrapper away from his straw. "Did you give up alcohol?" Mark asked.

"Nope, it's just not my taste at three in the afternoon."

Mark felt his shoulders slump slightly. There was nothing wrong with a beer at three in the afternoon, he told himself, but he didn't believe it, not because there was anything in his mind to suggest that he was some alcohol-addicted boozehound, but because Collins had implied that there was something wrong with wanting a beer at three o'clock in the afternoon.

"So you're all right?" Collins asked. A waitress who one day hoped to be an actress deposited a basket of fries on the table and hurried on without much conversation. Collins frowned at her back. "You know, with kids like Maureen used to be, all happy and friendly, you wanted them to succeed. This batch… they make me feel old."

Mark smiled. He took a French fry. "Maureen is as successful as she wants to be," he said. "I think she likes being the big fish."

Collins nodded. "The center of attention, definitely. Were you doing it, when you were with her?"

"Doing what?" Mark asked, uncertain. Something about the way Collins said "doing it" suggested that this was not the "it" usually referred to by that phrase.

Off-hand, Collins said, "Cutting yourself," and bit into a French fry.

Mark froze, straightened up against his chair and stared at Collins. He forced his mouth to open, but something was blocking his throat. Mark tried again. He swallowed. "You… you…?"

"Of course." He sucked salt off his fingertips, waited for Mark to answer, and when Mark continued to stare blankly, Collins said, "Not that this is something you're necessarily comfortable talking to me about."

"It's not that," Mark assured him. "I didn't… I didn't know you knew."

Collins nodded.

"How… how long did you know?" Mark asked, feeling a blush envelop him. He wanted to stop stammering, to understand what was going on, to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Collins shrugged. "How long have you been doing it?" he asked. Mark said nothing. "I never thought you and Mimi would get along. Goes to show what I know, but I never imagined it. Remember when Angel described her to us after Life Support?"

Mark nodded. He remembered. "I was terrified," he said.

"You hid it so well," Collins remarked sarcastically.

"Did I?"

"You were practically biting your nails. And now there's the babies…"

Mark nodded again. "Exactly," he said. "I can just imagine the little six-year-olds pleasantly informing their first grade teacher that 'Daddy likes boys'."

_You have high hopes for Roger. _Collins suppressed the thought and snickered. "You know what you're going to be to them?" he asked.

"Honestly, no," Mark admitted, "but I'm okay with that. I mean, Roger and Mimi don't know how to be parents, they're barely adults. But if they're figuring it out and I'm figuring it out, you know… we'll get there," he declared confidently. "We will." Somehow he had swallowed down over half his beer without noticing it.

"Do you know what you want to be?" Collins asked.

Mark shook his head. "I'm leaving that up to them. These aren't my kids."

"They might be," Collins pointed out. "If you stick around, they might be."

Mark shifted. "I'm not… I'm not good with kids," he said. "But you know, Mimi said something that really helped me get sorted out."

"Yeah? What'd she say?"

"She told me, 'You didn't get me pregnant. You didn't come into a partnership with children. The most they are, is your friend's babies. No one says you've gotta love them.'" Mark shook his head. He took a long draught of beer. "Part of me wants to," he admitted. "Break Roger's heart if I didn't."

"I think Roger's heart can take it."

--

When Mark and Collins returned to the loft, Maureen and Joanne were there, as well as Roger and Mimi. Roger was cross-legged on the couch, holding a blanket-wrapped child even more gingerly than he handled the acoustic. The other baby was in Joanne's arms, with Maureen and Mimi cooing over it.

The twins had finally come home.

"Let's have one," Maureen said.

Joanne looked up at her, not even surprised. "We'll talk," she said.

"Hey." Collins had no problem slipping into the knot of people. He sat beside Roger on the couch and peered at the baby. "Which one's this?" he asked.

"Sasha," Roger told him. "The girls have Gabriel. He's a ladies' man already," he joked, smiling at the baby in his arms though she was irrelevant to his comment.

"Can I hold her?"

Roger kept his hands near Sasha as Collins picked her up, biting his lip. Collins laughed. "This girl will never have a boyfriend in her life," he said.

"Who would want one?" Maureen retorted.

Roger raised his hand.

"Not that it matters, because Roger'll never let her out of his sight."

Roger blushed. "I'm gonna take care of her," he muttered, very quickly, under his breath. "Mark?" he asked. Mark had kept himself back, standing a few feet away and watching his friends and lovers melt at the sight of the babies. He couldn't bring himself closer. He couldn't, because he wouldn't be able to feel what they felt. He wouldn't melt. He would lack. "Mark, would you like to hold her?" Roger asked.

_Roger's heart will break._

Forcing a smile onto his face, Mark reached out and took the baby.

She was heavier than he had expected, warm and heavy and solid, and when he tried awkwardly to cradle her, she squirmed and opened her eyes. The falseness of Mark's smile stopped hurting.

"Hey, baby." He stroked her cheek with one finger. Sasha reached up and latched on to that finger. Mark choked. "Um…" He was surprised to find tears clogging his throat.

And it didn't matter that a moment later Sasha soiled herself and Roger attempted to explain how cloth diapers worked, but was shouted down; it didn't matter that she was taken from his arms at the first wail; it didn't matter that when she wanted a bottle, Roger held it for her without questioning Mark.

It didn't matter, because in that moment, Mark knew where he stood in the babies' lives.

Later that night, as Roger cuddled up to Mark in bed and nuzzled his neck, he asked, "How do you say 'Dad' in Hebrew?"

Mark stared up at the ceiling. He would need to find himself a job soon. Tomorrow, maybe.

"Go to sleep," Mimi whined.

Roger murmured something incomprehensible. He slipped an arm around Mark's waist and was asleep in moments.

Only then did Mark collect himself enough to answer, quietly, " Aba."

THE END!

Thanks for reading my story (since if you're reading this, I assume you did). I hope you enjoyed it! This isn't the end of it forever, I'll probably do a sequel, but that won't be until next break.

Please review?


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